


Black and White

by CyberII



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comfort, Dominance, Drugs, Ethics, F/M, Mind Control, Romance, Serious Injuries, Sexual Harassment, Turians, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vigilantism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberII/pseuds/CyberII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MassKinkMeme Awards, 1st place for 'Best Story Without Shepard as a Main Character'. They seem to share the 'black and white' vision, what if 'someone that young' could make Samara consider it won't hurt to feel young again for once. Started during his Archangel days; generally Garrus x Samara, hint of Garrus x Morinth(7Ch), Garrus x Aria(10Ch).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch.1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Черное и белое](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9826859) by [MilvaBarring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilvaBarring/pseuds/MilvaBarring)



It seemed like a rude joke heard from some batarian in docks – ‘Where the mercs swear louder, there is Archangel’ – wasn’t that far from reality. She strolled graciously through a ruined warehouse, stepping over lead-fed corpses. Blood Pack, she recognized the local name of the gang by the armor markings. Archangel’s people made a hell of a diversion here just a while ago – stench of explosives was still thick in the air. She headed to the half-collapsed further wall; that probably was the way they were retreating – she still picked up the sound of a distant firefight. Good, if she hurries, she still has a chance to encounter him.

There were dim-lit back alleys intercrossing behind the warehouse, ground stained with things she didn’t really wanted to specify. Whole Omega was filthy like that, it distracted her a lot. Wiping that whole asteroid clean from its thick layer of filth was far beyond even her capabilities. But it was worth trying, and she felt like she wasn’t the only one at this Goddess-forsaken station thinking that way. Mercs corpses were still warm here, the guerilla squad backed off just in time before some reinforcements arrived.

She stepped on the alley they still fought, gunfire resounded along with her heels clicking, her gait fearless. In a blink of an eye she noticed the convenient position of a diversion team – she couldn’t make out their exact disposing, but they were well-hidden in the ruins of abandoned building. The outnumbering Blood Pack mercs were a nuisance though, storming through an archway towards their certain death. She smiled, noted well-placed explosives at the arch fundament.

She didn’t slow her steps when the arch exploded, sending a cloud of smoke and concrete dust along the alley right in her face. She heard vorcha screaming and whining, krogans’ unpleasant grunts, boulders scattering, some extra footsteps hurrying – another pack of mercenaries, might be? No one was aware of a single elegant figure approaching from behind though; battle rage took their full attention. She let a little smile appear on her lips, and then her hands sent a crushing biotic wave, mangling the bodies of unfortunates left alive by the explosion, grinding the living meat with armor into bloody mess.

* * *

Detonation charges set off just in time, archway collapsed burying those rushing through it. Not that his squad really couldn’t stand against several extra vorcha – their operation was staged smooth and clear, but if they could leave with less pursue on their heels, why not using that opportunity. Visor picked quite a few thermal signals, frantically moving behind the dust veil, less than a single thermal clip worthy - and they will get away with another diversion free and easy. Perhaps the mercs grew soft and lazy here, with no laws to keep them on their toes, they weren’t even trying to put up a little challenge.

A sudden powerful burst of blue caught him by surprise. Biotics? Blood Pack hardly worked with biotics, and he doubted the Eclipse came to the rescue. The gangs weren’t generally open for cooperation, much less offering a helping hand to each other randomly. He made a sign to his squad to back off slowly, paused himself for a moment. Seemed like the biotic attack wiped out the rest of Blood Pack after them, but what it was supposed to mean? He wasn’t counting on any unexpected ally, more like inter-gang clash, but that made no actual sense at the moment. If that actually was Eclipse, and they took a chance to teach the Blood Pack some manners, their choice of target was pretty desperate.

His sharp eyes picked a movement through his scope. An elegant figure gracefully jumped over an improvised barricade of collapsed archway. Landed on her feet and approached with a steadfast gait. Her – that was an asari, yet he didn’t recognize her outfit. Her tight suit looked like a uniform of some sort, still not one of the mercs gangs he could think of, and definitely neither stripper, nor commando. Red with golden outlining, it hugged her slender frame like a glove, but her open cleavage revealed she’s in her matriarch age. He was intrigued, if not more, but not enough to lower his guard.

An asari stopped right in front of the ruins they were keeping their position in. She wasn’t like any other asari he ever met, she was something special, and even he sensed it. Her dignity of bearing, her cold yet gorgeous features – he never had a thing for asari, but that wasn’t about the attraction. Her steps, her moves, her expression spoke of it – not nice, not cute, not pretty; nothing less than pure gorgeous.

She just stood there, in a perfect spot for their crosshairs, fearless. And then her calm voice sounded in the dusty air.  
“I’m looking for someone.”

* * *

She observed the ruins, waiting for the answer. And then a figure rose from behind of half-crumbled wall.

Angular blue and black heavy armor, polarized helmet visor - a turian, she noticed his lanky and slim frame. All turians were lanky and slim, but her trained by centuries eye picked the details. His majestic height, imposing posture, careless grace of small movement, as he lowered his sniper rifle; she was pretty sure that’s a pure-blood Palaven-born in front of her; no colonies could teach a man to wear that imperial blue with such pride.

Mild, but confident voice, muffled by the helmet, spoke.  
“Do we look like skiptracers, ma’am?”

A faint smile stirred her lips; she turned her face to the turian.  
“I think I already found him.”

* * *

He didn’t like it, at all. Trying to look nonchalant, he put his arms behind his back, signaling the rest of his team to leave. The unfocused gaze of wide-open silvery eyes on him was disquieting, he felt like she’s looking right through him, and his gesture wasn’t left unnoticed.

“Mind you, we were just in a middle of a fight. Was it such a good idea to find us now?”

“I just handled it for you – can I have a few minutes of your time now?” the asari waved her hand gracefully at the direction of back alley. “It’s not easy to find you when you’re not causing ruffle.”

He sighed. Persistent lady, maybe even more dangerous than he expected.

“I assume, you know who you’re talking to…”

The asari smiled, scanning him with the same unblinking stare.  
“Exactly. I have a… concern no one at this station could help me with. No one but you,” she tilted her head, “I sense your suspicion and you earned the right to be mistrustful along with your name – but believe me, as a Justicar, my Code won’t allow me to act treacherous.”

He tapped his helmet, not sure of what he heard.  
“A what? Sorry, seems like my translator glitched.”

She cocked her head with a shadow of a sad smile.  
“I am an asari Justicar. I swore an oath to fight the injustice.”

He gave her a doubtful hum.  
“Never heard of them.”

“It’s… understandable,” she lowered her eyes to the ground, “There aren’t many Justicars, our Code is unrelenting, which makes that path hard.”

He sighed again. He wasn’t such a big expert in asari culture anyway – and if that asari had an intention to trick him, strange stories and costumes weren’t amongst the things which make people trust you immediately. She didn’t look stupid or naïve to make it up and think he’d buy it.

“I believe, the full story will take a while,” he assumed. “Why don’t we move somewhere nicer and quieter to talk?”

* * *

He took her to the one of his favorite rooftops. Up here was only artificial breeze, making the stench of lower levels of the station bearable, flecks of neon lights from the ads and signboards, and quiet hum of Omega life down there.

There was another reason he liked this roof. The building had only a few directions to approach from, and there was a clear shot of any of them from above; the only way up there was a narrow staircase allowing no more than one person pass at a time – it was pretty easy to defend. And it was pretty easy to flee – for a well-trained turian. Heavy-footed krogans lacked the agility, vorcha weren’t trained for a real hot chase, varrens were hard to drag to the roofs, humans hadn’t enough stamina, and any salarian was smart enough to ditch a futile idea of catching a turian on feet. All he had to keep an eye on were his own people and asari commandoes; and for his visor, registering biotic fields, the blue ladies were glowing brighter than the club lights.

His helmet locks hissed, unclasping, he raised his hand to take the helmet off. Took in a deep breath of foul air. Braced himself against the perimeter railing, looking at the shimmering sea of lights down there.

“I’m listening.”

* * *

She gave a glance around the place he led her to. She never knew Omega could have some nice spots. That was quite a view up here, and her companion visibly enjoyed it. She wondered if he comes here for something similar to her meditation.

He took off his helmet and placed it under the guard rail. Cobalt-blue markings caught her eye – she was right about Palaven.

She let herself admire him for a few moments. He was so young and handsome by turian standards; steel gray plates burnt out by the harsh sun of his homeworld to the clear metallic gleam, narrow face, tight stubborn set of mandibles, proud look of light blue eyes, so intense in the predatory-shaped velvet-black sockets. Some kind of custom visor over his left eye.

He bore a startling resemblance to someone she knew. Centuries ago.

“I’m listening,” he leaned against the railing, half-turned his head to her.

She mimicked his pose.  
“I came to Omega following my leads on tracking down a very dangerous… entity.”

“What can I say – welcome to Omega!” the turian made a theatrical gesture. “Three out of each four living here are dangerous. Even I and you, I assume, aren’t exceptions. Anyone particular on your mind?”

Her smile faded away, and there was unmistakable sorrow in her calm voice.  
“The person I’m looking for – she’s an Ardat-Yakshi.”

“Come again? My translator’s having a bad day, or you’re overloading me with new words,” he shook his long fringe.

She took in a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady and facial expression estranged.  
“Ardat-Yakshi. That’s a rather rare genetic… condition amongst the asari. You probably know of our melding ability?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “Heard of, even observed it performed on others couple of times. No personal experience though,” he added a bit awkwardly.

She couldn’t help but smile inwardly on that small purity confession from him. She liked him more with each minute, even his acrid tone and stiffness couldn’t trick her – she made the right choice talking to him.

“Ardat-Yakshi burn out the nervous system of a person they meld with. They can’t control it, and no solution was ever found. Fortunately that condition is rather rare,” she couldn’t help, but lower her eyes to the city lights down the street, “And most of them are under control. In a monastery.”

“Let me guess, but one of them broke loose?” he tilted his head, watching her intently with those bright piercing eyes.

“Yes,” she nodded, “She’s a sexual predator, addicted to death. She needs to be stopped.”

She watched him shifting from foot to foot, clearing his throat.  
“That looks like a big deal to me. You… look like someone who has the authority to, ah, ask Aria even for assistance – she’s of your race, she must understand it better than I do. Am I wrong?”

“You’re mostly right, the Justicars are respected… and feared in the asari space. Our methods are ruthless; we have a right to act brutal if needed. It… doesn’t help in modern society, where are shades of gray everywhere opposed to our Code giving us a clear vision of black and white. And on Omega, where almost no one is clean…”

She turned away, unable to look at him, not sure if able to keep her cold emotionless expression anymore.

“Every second after my foot touched the surface of this vile station I feel like I’m being tortured. I can’t sweep away every splat of filth on my way, and walking by I feel like betraying the Code – letting the injustice rule this place. It… doesn’t help to concentrate on my primary goal…”

To her surprise she felt a cautious touch of gloved hand on her shoulder.  
“Hey… I understand. I have no code to speak of, but I think it’s quite similar for me,” his soft flanging sounded unexpectedly sympathetic. “Actually I… don’t know what to do with that gray, it’s much easier to see the world in black and white. That’s why I’m doing… what I’m doing. Or maybe this world doesn’t deserve that gray vision to hide the dirty deeds behind it.”

She turned around, and he jerked back his hand immediately.  
“I’m glad I decided to find you.”

He was more than a foot taller than her, the height difference seemed so perceptible when they were standing that close. He took a step back, retreating from her personal space or reclaiming his own. His visor gleamed cyan from above.

“Yeah,” he replied curtly.

“In fact I talked to Aria already. Just after I arrived, she invited me to her club to… clarify my purposes. I understand her concern, having hard times restraining myself from starting a cleansing bloodshed on this asteroid… But she couldn’t care less about the Ardat-Yakshi unless she picks Aria as a next victim.”

“Quite illustratory of Aria. Her indifference and noninterference let all this lawlessness remain unpunished. So technically she’s the lesser evil of this station,” he remarked absentmindedly.

“Actually she gave me a very good advice, she probably was joking though. She told me to find you ‘to bother’,” the Justicar smiled bitterly.

The turian tensed immediately. Predatory eyes shot a glance over the streets down below.

“How many were tailing you after it?” his voice turned sharp, and even though he looked collected, his nervousness seeped out.

She allowed herself to throw her head up with a scornful glare.

“I’m a Justicar for 400 years. Another reason why there’s not many Justicars out there are the mortality rates. Trust me, they weren’t tailing me anymore shortly after I left the ‘Afterlife’.”

“I won’t be me if I just take any ‘trust me’ on trust,” he grumbled softly, fixing her with his intense eyes. “Too many people want my head as a trophy.”

“Not Aria apparently,” she replied nonchalantly, “She spoke of you skeptically, regarding your idealism, but with curiosity in general.”

“Oh, I’m so relieved,” his voice was clearly sardonic, “I have no idea what’s worse, her anger or her interest.”

* * *

He didn’t like it, but it was something in this asari which made him believe her. Her unmistakable dignity. Her cold and proud stance.

“Fine,” he stated, “I’ll help you if you tell me how. Any leads you want to share?”

She gave him a most beautiful faint smile he ever got. That asari probably had her centuries of maiden life working on her charming skills; even now when the sorrow left a distinctive mark on her features, her frozen smile was lovely even for a turian. And he had no thing for asari in general…

“Actually, I need you to lure her out, - she started, - She’s attracted to… special people. Artists, fighters, murderers, those with a spark in their soul, no matter if it’s light or dark. You’re… unique, she couldn’t resist.”

“Hey, she’s a biotic, does it mean I should deal with her by my own?”

“No, of course not,” the Justicar shook her head, “I’ll be watching you. She knows I’m searching for her, that’s why I can’t reveal my presence on Omega – otherwise she’ll flee and lay low for dozens of years once again.”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, “But you have no accurate info on her at the moment, right?”

“Right,” she admitted, “I need to figure out the places she frequents or something…”

“Good, because I might be busy for a week or so,” he smirked, mandibles flaring. “Is there any way I can find you to update me on this case?”

“Sure,” she turned on her omni-tool, “I found a room to stay, it’s a rather quiet place, and you’re welcome any time that’s convenient for you.”

He paused, a bit doubtful.  
“So, see you then?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Sorry, by the way, I didn’t introduce myself properly. My name is Samara.”

He looked at her, trying to figure out if she was up to draw something out of him.

“Garrus,” he replied dryly. There was something about her majestic presence. He just had to introduce properly too.

* * *

He returned to their base with mixed feelings and sharpened-up paranoid suspiciousness.  
“Do you know’er, Boss?”  
 _No. That was reckless to leave with her._  
“Sort of. All went smooth.”  
“Good, we were worrying.”  
 _Right. Any common sense should’ve stopped me._  
“Nothing to worry about. She asked for help.”  
“What she wants us for?”  
 _Not us._  
“That’ll be just me.”  
“Boss, are you sure?”  
 _No._  
“Yes. We’ll do just fine.”  
“Will it affect the operations planned?”  
 _I hope no._  
“No. The Blood Pack will receive every damn thing we’ve got on our schedule for them.”  
 _Yes. That thing about asari…_  
“Run an extranet search for me. Try to find something about ‘Ardat-Yakshi’, a genetic defect of asari.”  
“Can you spell it, Boss?”  
 _Ugh…_


	2. Ch.2

Aria just nodded curtly to greet Samara, showing her to take place on the sofa next to her. The Justicar didn’t blame her for discourteousness; she became used to her presence causing tension and almost estranged from keeping up the conversation herself.

“I’ve been thinking about your problem,” the Omega ruler didn’t even look at the older asari. “Since I need neither you nor Ardat-Yakshi on my territory, I’ll help to get rid of you both. Seems like I have little information on your runaway, she’s good in hiding.”

Aria stood up, pacing a lounge, then spoke to her bodyguards coldly.  
“Give us some privacy. Now.”

She turned back, sat closer to the Justicar, crossing her legs.  
“I will tell you what I got. Tell me something in return.”

 

“What would it be?” Samara calmly stared her up and down.

Aria’s lips stretched in a wicked smile. She folded her arms on her chest, leaning back.

“What’s he like?”

She shot a glance at Samara quietly staring back.  
“Come on, you actually found him, otherwise you won’t return here for more details yet.”

“Yes, I did,” the Justicar confirmed, unimpassioned, “I need him to help me; I won’t endanger him by giving out the information.”

Aria let a short laughter out.  
”I’m not asking for it. We’re big girls here, how about a small girl talk? I’m just curious, and if I decide to figure out something about him myself – that’s when he’d be in trouble.”

She cocked her head, observing a stripper, clearly bored.  
“Is he old? Young? Sexy or ugly? I don’t need you to grass him up, but I could use a little entertainment here.”

Samara let her stare defocus, remembering her encounter with Archangel few days ago.

“He’s a turian. Young, he couldn’t have completed the military service; dropped out, I assume. Just as you told – reckless, idealistic, hot-headed. Sarcastic, but with a good heart. Charming,” she involuntarily smiled, remembering his alert yet proud eyes.

Aria laughed, brows raised.  
”Charming? So the guy who’s having a quad to piss off every major merc gang on my asteroid could charm a Justicar?”

“I find it… adorable, when someone that young has such strong sense of justice,” Samara brushed her off coldly.

“Whatever,” Aria smirked, amused, “Just don’t start a cheesy love story on my station, you two cause enough trouble individually.”

The older asari was about to object, but a thought crossed her mind that Aria probably doesn’t need or deserve her explaining the lonely path of a Justicar. She was just mocking.

“There were few strange deaths recently,” Aria changed the topic casually, “Only Ardat-Yakshi could leave the corpses so drained.”

The face of the ruler of Omega turned dark and malicious.  
“Most of them were Afterlife VIP section clientele. That blood-thirsty bitch gives a bad name to my club. She must hang around there looking for next victims.”

Samara refrained from a remark that ‘Afterlife’ apparently had no necessity in extra notoriety. She just wanted to get it over with her chase, not stoke up the cross-talk.

“I’ll give you a pass to the VIP area. Or whoever will be used as bait,” Aria T’Loak gave her a glacial smile, “None of the staff will know it’s going to be him; you have Aria’s word on it. It will be him, won’t it?”

* * *

It’s been five days since Samara talked to Archangel. She stayed calm – he warned her he has plans of his own, and she believed he didn’t forget their conversation.

Those days weren’t wasted for nothing anyway – she talked to Aria once again, or her VIP area bouncer, to be specific. She recollected everything she knew about the habits of a person she’s chasing. And she meditated a lot to retain her composure Omega did a great job of tempting her to lose.

She was sitting on the floor, room lights off, facing a large window, where she could get sight of permanently dark sky of Omega, colored slightly with artificial lights’ reflections. Her glowing eyes didn’t quite see it though, her gaze directed depthward into centuries of her memories. Fluorescent blue protuberances danced between her palms.

She was lost so deeply into it she didn’t hear a chirp of overridden lock and a soft sound of the door opening. Only the clang of armor made the glowing eyes blink uncertainly, if that sound came from her mind or the dark room behind her.

It was him.

Shaky, hanging on the door frame like grim death – in the darkness of the room Samara didn’t make out what’s wrong with him. He tried to make a step inside, ended up collapsing in a heap of heavy armor, uttering a sharp hiss of pain. Jerky movement of his arm tore the helmet off his head; he managed to sit up, his back to the wall. He chuckled wearily.  
“Sorry for the ungraceful entrance… I decided to… embrace your offer to drop by… ah, anytime.”

He was a mess. His armor bore a number of fresh gunshot markings and an impressive pattern of blood splats of various colors. The orange stains were the most distinguishable, yet his own blue blood was hard to tell from his armor color.

Samara turned on the lights; he winced, baring his teeth, stained with blood. The helmet had a solid crack on its side; his right eye turned dark blue from being bloodshot.

“If you’re going to ask… if I’m alright, ah, at least… I’ll die laughing. Not… the worst way… I can think of right now.”

“Someone pursuing you?”  
She looked out of the door to see any trail left by him, locked the door properly.

“I doubt so, no, not anymore… That’s why… my apologies… I had to go somewhere no one have any idea..,” he forced out short pieces of phrases between the gasps.

He shifted, trying to stand up, and failed. Cobalt blue blood started to pool around his boot.  
“Of course, it’s your right to… throw me out of here. No hard f-… feelings…”

Samara observed him struggling with the clasps of his boot. She became disaccustomed to random shows of sympathy long ago, but on the other hand her heart hardened only towards those who deserved it. He was in danger, most likely because of his views and actions; he came to her even though he didn’t know her good enough to trust her.

“You need help,” she replied hastily, kneeling beside him, “Regarding your injuries I’m impressed you managed to get here by yourself.”

He threw his head back, letting out a gargling laughter, spat a mouthful of blood on the floor and continued with the laughing.

“Garm smashed a, ha-ha-ha, whole crate of Red Sand with me... Probably got few pounds of that shit in my armor, ha-ha, never thought it’s… good for drug smuggling… Aaand got all dusted up in process… That could be the only thing because of which I made it here on my feet… Well,” he made another futile effort to make his legs obey, “Not anymore… But at least I’m not passing out… of blood loss, or pain, or damage taken… yet. We can still go back to dying of laughter, you know… I don’t appreciate all the re-… maining ideas including overdose…”

He coughed up blood, wiped the blue streaks under his nose and on his chin, still chuckling.  
“Full story later… If you’re positive about me staying.”

“I told you you’re welcome, I didn’t specify the circumstances. Now you need medical assistance,” she helped him to take off the leaking boot.

“I think here’s more blood than is left in me,” he looked on the puddle with a grin. ”I’m lucky it didn’t spill out earlier to leave a blood trail. Hah, I’m lucky today, could you believe it…”

“I’m amazed by your humorous approach, but even I find it rather disturbing in your current state,” Samara helped him to stop the blood flow from a nasty lacerated wound just above the greave edge. Looked like a varren job. “I have some medi-gel, but no dextro medical supplies.”

“While I’m still laughing... it’s not over with me yet… I’d better laugh than scream,” his voice hoarsened, words coming out slower. “I’m… not that bad. Could’ve lost much less blood… if not being chased down over half of Omega.”

He faintly stopped her from further examining of his injuries.  
“Hate to abuse your hospitality… passing away on th-… the floor would be more abusive though… Could I ask you to get someone able… to provide efficient medical aid?.. I can’t go to… any clinic around here; the gangs… are probably hunting up a half-dead and… tripping balls turian already... Heh, funny human saying… what kind of balls they trip over…”

The asari raised her eyes to meet his stare slowly turning glassy.  
“Of course, but… leaving you here?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t join the Spirits… until you’re back,” he cracked up a weary smile, wincing. “Although… you’re so kind I’m not sure… you’re not part of the trip.”

She raised her hand to brush off few droplets of blood, seeping between his faceplates – _not to cup his cheek_ ; his head lolled against her palm - _not leaned into the touch_.

“There is a doctor who will help,” Samara barely heard his gravelly whisper, when he activated his omni-tool to transfer the landmark coordinates. “Be careful, it’s Blue Suns’ territory…”

* * *

Samara heard the rapid speech from the clinic hallway long before she located the speaker himself; and even when she finally saw him, his patter seemed to never end. An old weedy salarian dressed in white lab coat apparently was that Mordin Solus her unexpected guest told her about. Hunched over a table with a sickly-looking batarian on it, he was talking to a relatively younger human, probably his assistant. The Justicar waited politely in the doorway, not willing to interrupt him.

“Professor…” the assistant noticed her first and hesitantly tried to put a word in, waving his hand at her direction. Dr. Solus straightened and turned to face the asari. Large black eyes blinked curiously.  
“Asari Justicar. Interesting. Never hoped to see one in my life time.”

“You are surprisingly well informed, doctor Solus,” Samara nodded.

“Worked in STG. Retired now, still hear things,” the salarian dropped nonchalantly as if he was talking about working in a flower shop. “Wondered, what Aria had been thinking allowing a Justicar on Omega. Surprised this asteroid’s still intact. Personally admired Justicars’ work, beautiful ancient tradition. Sadly, becoming extinct. Felt an interest in the Code myself. Amazing approach to ethically questionable aspects. Ignoring. End justifies means...”

“Professor, I’m impressed you know that much about the Justicars and I feel deep respect to your study of our Code. I hope we’ll have an opportunity to talk more eventually,” Samara made an effort to get to her real purpose. Dr. Solus seemed to be really unstoppable when speaking, and her tact made it hard to break in. “I came here to ask for your help. A… friend of mine is severely wounded in my apartment; I need you to come with me…”

“Friend of a Justicar, on Omega. Gets more interesting,” Solus pulled a small case from under the table, quickly moved across the room to a wall safe. “Lots of work in the clinic, new disease, presumably artificial. Must prevent epidemics. Although, word of a Justicar. No unimportant case or unworthy person,” he added with an inscrutable smile. “What kind of wounds does your friend have?”

“I can not tell you much, he sent me to get you before I could take a good look. Beaten up, bitten by a varren, probably shot. Massive blood loss. It looked like he was in a fight, lots of krogan blood on him. And he mentioned inadvertent exposure to large amount of Red Sand.”

Mordin Solus gave her a look.  
“Inadvertent. Key word. How? Not asari, unaffected by Red Sand. Your friend’s species? Getting in a fight with krogans. Reckless for any species. Need transportation to the clinic.”

Samara hesitated. Garrus trusted Solus enough to ask to treat him, but what exactly he’d let the nosey doctor know?  
“He’s turian, professor,” she answered mildly, “And he… couldn’t be transported here. As for the incident with the Red Sand – I was told that someone he called ‘Garm’ broke a crate of it when they wrestled.”

Dr. Solus spun around staring at her with huge black glossy eyes, surprisingly silent for the first time. Did she tell something wrong, the Justicar wondered.

“Krogan battlemaster. Bad wrestling partner choice,” he snapped out finally. “Garm, local Blood Pack leader. Brute, ruthless, blood-minded. Incredible regeneration, even for a krogan. Your ‘friend’ must have a death wish. Extreme luck he got away alive. His status when you leaved?”


	3. Ch.3

His instinct told him to snap open his eyes at the sound of the door unlocking, but the blood loss weakened his body and slowed the reactions. His eyelids felt like lead, none of his limbs obeyed. When he finally managed to focus his eyes, he found himself staring into a pair of huge silvery-blue irises. Cold nimble fingers on his neck – a glove, metallic fingertips; he knew that glove and its owner.

He let out a light relieved sigh, baring his teeth in a weary smile and trying to chuckle.

“See… Told you I’ll be fine… Now bring your… Ardat-Yakshi in… Death by sex is on top of my… death causes list right now…”

“Treatment first,” a grumpy salarian voice came from the side his vision blackened out already. “Talk later.”

“Hello, Doc,” there was a dull sting of injection, although his mind barely registered it, “Nice to meet you too…”

Four hands started to remove his armor carefully; he tried to assist, with a little success though.

“Thoughtless, foolish behavior,” Mordin sounded irritated, yet his concern didn’t escape the turian ears. “Fight with Garm, sure way to die.”

“I almost got him, Doc,” the turian breathed out, “Caught him alone, I could finish him off, if not for his damned vorcha coming to help…”

“Looks more likely, he could finish you off,” fast salarian voice chided him; skilled hands gently worked on cutting off the undersuit in places where the wounds didn’t allow peeling it off. “These injuries will disable you for a week; Garm already forgot where you hit him.”

“No, Mordin, I can’t… Ouch!” the bones in his elbow cracked nastily, when Mordin put them in place, then scanned for fractures with his omni-tool.

“Heal first. Object later,” the doctor’s voice was stern. “Should stay here if not going to clinic.”

Whichever anesthetics Solus used on him, their effect became hard to fight. Even the sharpest pain slowly faded away, limpness and drowsiness took its place. He tried to tell Mordin he can’t stay here either, not for a week, not only because Samara won’t approve it…

He yawned faintly, looked into her wide-open hypnotic eyes. His head felt so heavy and lolled forward, the light blue orbs with black rims still before his closed eyes…

* * *

Dr. Solus’ work was impressive. His hands moving rapidly above the limp frame of his sleeping patient were patching him up with such skill and precision it looked more like an inspired musician’s manipulations.

“Concussion round to the head, close range. Extreme luck, could’ve result much worse contusion. Needs rest, good sleep. With all respect, Justicar. You,” Solus stared at Samara, “Could provide it? If not, must find a safe place. Your ‘friend’, important deeds, giving hope,” the salarian sighed curtly. “Young. Hot-headed. Signed his own death-warrant.”

“I can, professor,” unexpected words escaped her mouth, “Actually, I’ve spent centuries serving the Code, life of a Justicar can be lonely. It would be… a welcomed change to have a company for a while.”

“Good,” the salarian doctor nodded, “Take good care of him, make sure he takes the medicine and changes the bandages. Will check him in a day or two, bring more supplies. Dextro rations?”

“It won’t be a problem,” the Justicar shook her head, “I’m clear of suspicion; none of the local gangs had a chance to see us together. I can get him whatever he needs to make a full recovery.”

Mordin gave her a tight-lipped smile, narrowing his eyelids.  
“Excellent choice of friend, not that foolish. Considering your arrival to Omega, acquaintance recent. Still trusted you to come here. Spontaneous choice, yet brilliant.”

He glued the deepest puncture of a warren bite wound, wrapped a bandage under his patient’s knee.

“Need to move him on a couch.”

“The bed will be more comfortable for his height,” Samara interjected. “I’m indifferent to luxury, I spend most of the resting time meditating either way.”

She let biotic flame run through her fingers when she carefully lifted her unconscious guest from the floor stained with his blood. Mordin watched for his bandages to remain in places, supported his head when she lowered him slowly, covered the long frame with a blanket.

There was a deep concern in slightly narrowed salarian eyes, while he stood by the bedside. Finally he sighed lightly, tense shoulders rose and fell.  
“Will live. Lucky.”

He turned to the asari, straightened up, rubbed his gloves against his white coat absentmindedly, adding a new pattern of blue prints on it.  
“Good, you contacted me. Will be honored to maintain our acquaintance. Will see you soon, both. If medical assistance ever needed – you know where to find me.”

Dr. Solus picked up his medical stuff, wiping it clean with a piece of cloth, neatly arranging it in his case. His nimble fingers locked the case; he stood up, handed Samara a stock of bandages and some tubes.

“Dextro ointments. Pretty sure, he’s familiar with them. Keep the room temperature slightly warmer; turian, hotter climate presets. Good physical condition, slightly malnourished though. Assumption: lived on military rations mostly since arrived on Omega.”

The salarian nodded to himself, threw last glance on the bed with the wounded turian on it and hurried to the door.  
The last stop he made before letting the door close behind his back was to address her once again.  
“Won’t ask about the Ardat-Yakshi case he mentioned. Just… Don’t put his life on stake. Too dangerous.”

Mordin Solus jerked his shoulders and disappeared in the dimly lighted hallway.

* * *

She tried to remember how it is – to stay with someone in the same apartment. Part of her wanted to leave him in his sleep, go anywhere, just to keep that solitude which became comfortable for her centuries ago.

The other part spoke with dangerous curiosity. There was no place for curiosity in the Justicar Code.

She sat on the edge of the bed, listening to his slow but steady breath. She remembered how quiet turians are in their sleep.

And how much of light sleepers they are, with their predatory genetics.

She wasn’t afraid to wake him only because of his sedated sleep; she was pretty sure he won’t react to her silent presence.

Her slender gloved hand traced his markings with a feather-light touch.  
She delved into centuries of her memories. Back in time, when she was a young maiden, free, reckless, living for the moment – of fun, of spilled blood, of love.

Love which seemed eternal every time.

Hot, tropical planet – its name escaped her mind for this time. She didn’t care for the names of the places she was happy back then. She was with him.

Different pattern of markings, but the same striking blue color. Light, platinum-colored plates; tall, graceful, with deep turquoise eyes…  
She bent over him and couldn’t resist but catch his exotic spicy scent, even mixed with the smell of his blood.

The memories…  
All that’s left for her.


	4. Ch.4

He woke up as groggy as never before in his whole life, even after a hell of a drunken night in Chora’s Den. Tried to get up, but a head rush and sharp pain in almost every part of his body kept him down. Slowly the blurriness of his vision faded away…

He’d never been in this place.

But as much as his paranoia screamed he needs to get out of there quickly, his body wasn’t really able to do it.  
Step by step he called the pieces of the day before to memory…

Oh.  
That was embarrassing.

It even hurt to move his eyeballs in sockets, but he looked about the room he was in. Small, cheap but tidy. Nice view. He almost got the idea which part of Omega it was.

Right. The Justicar.

She was sitting on a counter, her legs crossed in front of her, arms folded on her knees. She was watching him intently; for how long – he could only guess. She was making an impression she could keep that silent unblinking stare for years.  
But at least she was a rather friendly face, he hoped. He remembered how he just stumbled in her quarters uninvited…

He tried to clear his throat, but it seemed as dry as Palaven wastelands.

The Justicar gracefully jumped off the counter and poured a cup of water. He didn’t know what to think when she kneeled beside the bed he was lying on and put a cup to his mouth. None of his arms seemed to work properly yet, so he turned his head slightly, lapping up the cool liquid.  
That became more embarrassing every moment.

He stopped and finally forced a few words out in unusually muddy voice.  
“Thanks… But you shouldn’t…”

“Shh,” she hushed him, “You need a lot of rest to recover.”

“It’s not… Listen, I usually do not break into the apartments of someone I barely know and talk lots of nonsense because of being high on Red Sand…”

Samara – that was her name, he remembered, smiled with a surprising glint in her cold eyes.  
“I don’t mind it actually. I’m almost thousand years old, and you succeeded in making an impressive entrance – even for me.”

He frowned, more of pain than of shame; his whole right side of face felt rigid and unmovable.  
“Just… not my style.”

The asari eyes travelled along his faceplates, her expression frozen again.  
“You made a good choice when needed. You were right to come here. I need your help, I will help you.”

Her voice sounded so monotonous, lulling – he felt like he’s too anemic and exhausted.  
“Fine,” he murmured, closing his heavy eyelids and sinking into a deep sleep…

* * *

When he woke up again, she was sitting on the floor near the window. He just saw her back and faint biotic glowing coming from somewhere in front of her.

He propped himself up on the elbow, hissed from the pain but managed to sit on the bed.

The asari probably heard him; blue flame enveloped her form and faded, she rose from lotus pose to her feet and turned to him.

“Hello,” she smiled, “You look better today.”

He rubbed his aching browplate, feeling his teeth with his tongue – much to his surprise he still had a full set.  
“For how long I’ve been…”

“About a day cycle, it seems to me… I’m quite unmindful of time when meditating.”

“I’m really sorry,” he rubbed his neck, “I hadn’t planned to end up as a drag on you…”

He revised his assortment of bandages, noting that aside from them he’s got absolutely no clothes left.

He looked around, saw his armor in the corner, but no signs of undersuit.  
“Hey, about my clothes…”

“Me and Dr. Solus, we had to cut it off from you,” she shrugged, “There’s no big deal, I know the turians aren’t shy around their own kind, just act natural.”

Just perfect, he ended up in her apartment half-dead and now bare-assed. Well, not that he had something to be shy about, not really, but…

“Death of embarrassment had been just added to my death causes’ list. That’s wrong on so many levels; I can’t decide which part of my unexpected visit is worse… Stumble in drugged or walking around the lady’s apartment naked…”

He was unprepared to hear her laughing softly.

“Just as I’ve said, I’m nearly thousand years old. Such young and handsome man, naked, in my apartment, could only compliment me. I sincerely doubt I’ll see something never seen before.”

He sighed, not having enough strength to argue, and stood up. The room spun before his eyes, he had to lean on the wall for support.  
“Good wall,” he murmured, heading towards the bathroom.

Washing off his dried blood took longer while trying not to faint. He seemed to lose pretty much of blood; Mordin got him patched up just in time.

Speaking of Mordin.

“Solus probably left some spare meds, am I right?” he asked.

There was a clicking of heels behind him, and monotonous voice spoke.  
“Yes. He told you know what to do with it.”

She handled him the medical supplies, a brief glance ensured him the far-sighted doctor was right. He hastily swallowed painkiller and anti-inflammatory pills and continued with bandages.

Samara just stood there, staring silently. He felt the familiar discomfort under that stare.

“So… did Solus tell something else? Aside from me being stupid and suicidal?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “He told me he’ll come to check on you in a day or two and bring more supplies. Besides, I am interested – is he… familiar with your identity? You talked like there’s little secrecy between you, I figured out you should’ve really trusted him.”

“Infrequent on Omega, huh?” he grinned, “He’s STG, well, former, but it doesn’t change a thing. Hiding something from an STG guy is… like trying to run away from a sniper,” he looked back into the room to locate his rifle standing against the wall, “Highly ineffective. I prefer to talk to him as if he knows everything, just to save my breath.”

“He patched up some of my men,” he continued, “And he’s got an interesting reputation. We… do almost the same job here on Omega. It seems to me, his STG past haunts him. Something about questionable ethics of some projects.”

“Yes, he told me he was interested in the ethics of our Code,” she nodded calmly, “It was my pleasure to discover such well-informed person in such place.”

“See? I told you, he’s the ‘know-it-all’ kind,” he scraped the dried blood from under his talons with a disgusted look. “Also he’s the one to patch you up or shoot you down with similar ease. Great guy, huh?”

“Indeed,” she smiled coldly.

They returned in the main room, he inspected his armor. Fine, at least he has something to do until he’s able to return to base. Cleaning and repairing will help him killing the recovery time.

“I apologize, I’ve spent last four centuries alone, my social skills are rusty,” Samara looked through him unblinking, “I should’ve asked if you’re hungry…”

“No, it’s all right with me. I… don’t think my appetite has recovered yet,” he lied ignoring his stomach, “Unlikely, you’ve got dextro food here…”

“Actually, I’ve had plenty of time while you slept. I… suggested you might be hungry when finally awaken…”

He felt like losing the battle between modesty and basic needs.  
“Oh, you shouldn’t…”

* * *

That tasted like the best meal he’d ever had on Omega. He ran out of apologies, all shattered against the Justicar’s indifferent politeness, and just enjoyed himself. Aside from being all bandaged up and a little dizzy.

Omega certainly could teach a man to find pleasure in small things. A good meal, a painkiller pill and a warm apartment, and he’s happy he’s gotten into this mess.

Besides, he just noticed the room temperature was pretty comfortable for him. So comfortable he forgot to be surprised by it. Most races used cooler climate presets.

“You seem to know a lot about turians,” he tilted his head, a piece of meat halfway to his mouth, “You know, not the most common kind of things known by everyone.”

She was sitting on the counter in front of him, knees drawn up to her chest, gorgeous features unreadable.

“I’ve had a friend,” her silvery eyes threw an unfocused glance outside of the window, “A turian… You remind me of him.”

He heard the silent sorrow in her voice and asked. 

“Something bad happened to him?”

The asari eyes focused on him, her smile was glacial.  
“No. But it was centuries ago, and I still live. He doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he lowered his eyes to his plate.

“No, I’m fine. Yet the downsides of long lifespan are… obvious. The losses… accumulate.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, “Changing the topic?”

“As you like,” her voice sounded frigidly, “You may ask me anything.”

“Tell me about the Justicars,” he asked, “I’d… like to understand.”

She glanced at the floor but spoke calmly before he voiced his suggestion to drop this subject as well.

“The asari Justicars are servants of the Justicar Code. It consists of five thousand Sutras, and I’ve memorized every word. The purpose of our Code is to give us a clear vision of any situation we may encounter, to protect the innocent and punish the wicked.”

“Sounds… interesting,” he set the leftovers aside, head resting on his hand, “And dangerous. With some romantic air, I suggest.”

“It… is,” she continued, eyes still on the floor, “Young asari grow up on romantic stories about the Justicars. Mostly fictional. In reality it is a path of great sacrifices and life of constant danger. When a Justicar becomes involved, peaceful solutions are long past. Many people are uncomfortable about us, but there’s just few of us so they hardly get a chance to meet one in their lifetime.”

“I should be honored then,” he bowed his head slightly. She raised her eyes with a first smile during this conversation.

“I do not seek for praise and honor, but it’s nice to be around someone well-mannered,” she nodded, “I may seem a heroic figure, but I will kill in cold blood when necessary.”

He frowned.  
“Won’t we have a problem there? Your Code demanding you to kill me, or something?”

“How do you tell an innocent from a guilty person in your scope?” her voice was calm and freezing, but his answer came out unwavering.

“An innocent person never gets in my scope.”

She jumped from the counter, reached across the small table; he felt cool fingers brushing his cheekplate softly. He raised his eyes – she was smiling genuinely, even those disturbing eyes had a spark of that smile now.

“That’s why I’m glad I asked you to help me. Never forget what you answered me, never betray it, Garrus.”

For the first time he heard her calling him by his name. Smiling at him, touching his cheek. It was worth of trying to wrestle a krogan and ending half-dead. Maybe he’d kill an Ardat-Yakshi with his bare hands to hear it again.


	5. Ch.5

Solus came the next day, more nervous than usual. Much to Garrus’ relief he brought some turian clothes too.

“Must be you size, approximately. Patient, victim of new virus,” the salarian sighed, “Didn’t make it, vaccination late, cure imperfect. Need more time to improve, epidemic quite probable.”

He jerked his hand, pointing at the heap and his coat.  
“Sterilized, autoclave, not risking, medically fragile state at this stage of recovery. To avoid further risks, won’t be able to come often. Message me if needed.”

The salarian doctor examined the most severe injuries hastily, added some more repair ointment, smiling every time he glued another clean wound. He scanned the whole turian frame once again to ensure all physical damage taken is under control.

“Any foreign feelings? Hand-eye coordination working well? Cerebral commotion, high probability…”  
The salarian snapped his fingers at the corner of Garrus’ sight to check reflexes.

“Thanks for worrying, Mordin, but I think my brain can take one concussive. Or maybe I’ve got not much to rattle in my head.”

Dr. Solus stretched his lips in a smile.  
“Still joking. Lucky, Red Sand doesn’t affect turians as much as humans. Cerebral hemorrhage, death preferable, permanent disability not uncommon.” 

The turian grinned.  
“I wonder if the rumors are true, and Red Sand really gives some biotic abilities. It’s a pity things became pretty hectic and I hadn’t time to figure it out. Hah, I bet it would scare the shit out of them, as if Archangel wasn’t bad enough to deal without the biotics!”

Mordin sighed, took Garrus’ hand and put something in it.  
“Keep it. Hope, you won’t need it.”

Garrus looked at the small container on his palm. It was sealed and had some kind of label with unfamiliar hexagonal logo. He believed it was in human, the shapes of letters a bit familiar, but he couldn’t read it anyway. No sign of other languages or omni-pidgin.  
“What is it, Mordin? All I can figure out is this thing was made by humans and never supposed to fall in hands of any other race.”

“Good observation, cogitative faculty functional,” Dr. Solus narrowed his eyes, “Secret project, pro-human organization. ‘Cerberus’.”

“Oh, I know them. They hadn’t this fancy logo though back in the days we crossed paths.”

Solus nodded.  
“Omega-Enkaphalin. Biotic suppressor. Ardat-Yakshi, more dangerous than you think. No foolishness, minimize the risk.”

* * *

When Mordin left, they both were quiet for a while.

“Well, that was very… Mordin style,” Garrus sat on the couch, examining the gift, “He just walks in and drops a sample of experimental drug developed by terrorists to help you dealing with some mysterious asari serial killer. And, well, you can’t even ask him the stupid questions like how did he know or where did he get it.”

“You’re acquainted with this ‘Cerberus’ organization?” Samara asked politely.

“Oh, yes, it was about… a year and a half ago. ‘Cerberus’ wasn’t our main concern even. We just secured a couple of their bases when we were chasing Saren across the galaxy. Even if we didn’t – I’m pretty sure they would find a way to screw it up. These guys cannot cook their breakfast without it backfiring hard.”

“You have an adventurous past,” the Justicar smiled.

“Nothing comparable to yours, I guess. But, yeah, I wasn’t always drudging away the best years of my life wrestling krogans and sniping mercs in a shithole like Omega. I worked in C-Sec once…”

“What happened?”

He jerked his shoulders.  
“A lot of things. I’ve got sick of a critical amount of red tape, felt a real difference between searching for evidences in office and chasing a rogue Spectre with his army of geth and a real Reaper included for free.”

“I must apologize,” she spoke softly, “But I’m rarely leaving asari space and secluded life of a Justicar made me inattentive to global news. But I’d love to hear your story…”

* * *

…He lost track of time, retelling Samara the story which took place more than a year ago. Despite the time had passed he almost felt it again – cold of Noveria, pleasant warmth of Virmire turning into scorching hell with a little help of a nuke, vertigo after a trip in ‘Mako’, Sovereign pieces landing almost on their heads…

“…I tell you, it wasn’t just geth attack. I was there, I saw Sovereign, I heard what indoctrinated Saren told Shepard. I put a bullet in his skull to be sure he’s dead. He was dead, really dead, I’ve seen lots of dead people, I made people dead a lot. I can tell when someone’s dead. And then he… changed and attacked us.”

“It’s hard to believe, but I believe you,” the asari nodded, “I couldn’t judge, all I’ve heard was a brief official report.”

“Yes. And they blamed it all on geth,” his mandibles twitched. “It became even easier after Shepard’s death – no one to talk about the Reapers anymore. Sometimes I wonder wasn’t the destruction of Normandy set up for politicians to stick to their safe ‘geth’ version. You can never tell with politics.”

“You weren’t there?”

“No, I left after we defeated Sovereign. I was a Spectre candidate once, set my mind on reapplying, believed I could do more good without the red tape… Most part of the crew stayed with Shepard, but no one was taking risks to assign her to any notable mission anymore. She’s been doing some routine patrolling; it’s… degrading for a hero.”

He breathed deep to recollect his thoughts, it stung to recall those days.

“And this particular Galaxy hero no one wanted to keep talking gets killed on a routine patrolling. Damn it, even the cripple pilot makes it. I don’t understand it.”

Garrus gritted his teeth.

“They didn’t even bother to find her body. The casket was empty, and everyone was fine about it. I don’t understand humans.”

Samara stared through him with her usual cold expression.  
“She meant a lot to you?”

He cast up his eyes on her.  
“Yeah. Sometimes… we had a disagreement on some things, when she sounded too much like my father, but she showed me it is the right, quick and just way to solve problems without the paperwork. She pushed me towards continuing with the Spectre training.”

“But you didn’t become one?” the Justicar asked.

He nodded.  
“Too much politics and bureaucracy after the attack on the Citadel. Just as I’ve said, no one wanted to take risks anymore. I think the fact that I was with Shepard when we brought down Saren didn’t help me to get into the white list. So I just let it go, used a bit of my C-Sec skills to disappear and… ended up on Omega. Everything’s so simple here, no red tape, no politics and just one rule…”

“I fought a Spectre once,” Samara looked away from him, “A turian named Nihlus.”

“Hey, I knew Nihlus,” he tilted his head curiously, “Saren shot him on Eden Prime. A low trick, he made Nihlus drop his guard and shot him in the back.”

“He killed an innocent and unarmed civilian before my eyes, my Code demanded to attack him,” the Justicar frowned, “He escaped, using my Code against me. He was a man of great tactics and adaptability, and I hardly can imagine he was killed with such ease…”

“Saren was his mentor and friend,” Garrus explained. “Would you mind if I ask? Nihlus fled unpunished by your Code, but ended up killed by a traitor. What does your Code say about this situation?”

* * *

Samara liked his curiosity. That was something they didn’t share, but it wasn’t a critical difference. He gave right answers, asked right things, made right decisions.   
They were on each other’s wavelength.

“My Code says that there’s no job for a Justicar anymore,” she smiled at him gently. “Saren’s crimes were incomparably worse, but both evil doers are dead.”

He rubbed his browplate.  
“So – it’s all about the end? At all costs?”

She let out a sight.  
“As long as it doesn’t place the innocents under unnecessary risk. Sometimes… even I can do nothing about the casualties…”

His inquiring look indicated he caught the grieving tone in her voice, but hesitated to ask what it was about.

“I had to destroy an entire village, while chasing Morinth… that Ardat-Yakshi I need you to help me with. She made all population idolize and worship her, sacrifice young asari for her to sate her lust. And when I tracked her, they bought her time to flee… with their lives.”

“We fought hordes of husks, but it’s not quite the same, I guess,” Garrus jerked his shoulders, “Even for our human squad members. She’s pretty powerful, I assume? I’m not scared; just want to be prepared properly.”

“She is,” Samara nodded, “She gets even stronger with each victim. But… I’m sure we both possess the strength to end her spree.”

She told it just hoping the keen turian hearing caught no suggestion of uncertainty in her voice. Right now he needed to be positive they can do it. His will power was the only hope to stand against their foe; she shouldn’t let him have any doubts.  
She’d hate losing him because of carelessness.

She’d hate Morinth to have him.

* * *

Garrus was glad his visor survived; it would be way more boring without it. He sent a brief note to his men earlier this day, assuring them he’s alive, still in one piece and rather safe; already got a reply with more curses than subject matter. The thought of someone caring and worrying about him uplifted his spirits. Now he was scanning his armor for damage, humming the tunes of tracks from his playlist under his breath. Samara was away for half of the day, so he feared not to interrupt her meditations with some metal clanging.

He’s been tinkering at his chestplate for a few hours. The helmet took the worst damage, and he had no tools with him to repair it, so he worked on planishing the minor dents and setting the in-built electronics back online.

Staying with Samara was more interesting than he expected. Working with Shepard was a totally different experience. Her actions were drastic, heroic, but… inconsistent and spontaneous. It was hard for a turian to understand her human logic, so he watched, listened and learned from her. Sometimes he thought she couldn’t explain her own actions even. That was something about the human trademark improvisation and adaptability, something he felt he could turn into his strength if learned to use it well.

He was glad she figured out soon that he’s had enough of his father tutoring him. Garrus would never say it in her face though even if she didn’t. It just made him… feel better around the human ship, knowing Shepard listens to his opinions too, not just keeps him for a spare rifle. But her logic was unpredictable sometimes.

Samara had answers.  
And her answers were so alluringly simple and understandable.

She was uncompromising and inflexible. Sometimes it disturbed him a little, a thought that he could be unworthy and invoke her wraith. He had no Code after all; he was just doing what seemed the only right for him. He might be pretty self-confident, but never thought of himself with enough pompousness to pretend he’s got the ultimate rectitude. Even his grandiose alias wasn’t his idea, it just stuck to him. It made little sense in turian actually, human inhabitants of Omega came up with it a while ago, and he suggested it had something to do with their religions. He wasn’t an expert. Maybe he’d look it up in the Extranet when he’s going to have fewer things to shoot.

But the Justicar showed no signs of disapproval. She kept her distance but kindly joined the conversations every time he was up to. He tried not to abuse her kindness, but she visibly enjoyed it. She didn’t try to hide the inner sorrow in her eyes and voice, and he wondered was it a result of the things accumulated during her long life, or some major disaster; he couldn’t ask her bluntly anyway. He just figured out it wasn’t his presence or words he told which upset her.

Shepard would lecture him if disagreed. Just like the time they met at Dr. Michel clinic.  
She wouldn’t disintegrate him with biotics beyond belief.  
Samara wouldn’t bat a silvery eye if she has to do it. It made the value of her approval incredibly higher.

He thought he was proud to go all the way after Saren with Shepard. Now dealing with a bearer of millennium wisdom and righteousness he wasn’t so sure if every Shepard’s action would be accepted by Justicar.


	6. Ch.6

“You have a nice voice,” unexpected sound from behind his back made him almost jump out of his plates.

“I apologize; I had no intention to scare you,” Samara tilted her head, “I didn’t want to interrupt you either.”

“No problem, I just… didn’t hear you enter. Got engrossed with… you know,” he waved his hand over the armor pieces on the table. “I’ll wrap it up since you came…”

“No need to,” the asari touched the blue surface of his shoulder armor absentmindedly, slid her fingers along the curved edge, “I’ll watch you working if you have nothing against it. I also enjoyed your… crooning, I wouldn’t mind to listen a little more.”

He probably looked too embarrassed, so she stared up into his eyes with an almost pleading timid smile.  
“Any kind of turian art is so rare outside of turian space… It was so nice to recall the memories of my younger days.”

Garrus cleared his throat nervously, bending over the table and picking a random piece of armor, suddenly ashamed of his playlist. He shuffled through the tracks, searching for some real songs, not club hits. She took her favorite spot on the counter, silently watching him cleaning his armored boot of dried blood. No matter the color, it all turns muddy-brown once spilt, he mentally noted with a bitter smirk.

It was easier to get over his shyness with the help of monotonous polishing movements. He started to hum some war ballad once again, trying to remain oblivious to his quiet watcher. The smooth metal surface slowly appeared from under the stains, as he rubbed them off, he didn’t pay attention to the song anymore.

Until the track stopped. The room sank into silence.

He raised his eyes and saw the Justicar’s dreamy smile. Her palm slid along her elegant neck, light-blue eyes filled with longing. She looked through him as usual, but his heart jumped, when he imagined her fixing those eyes on him…

Her heels clicked against the tiles on the floor. Samara tilted her head in an almost flirtatious way, slightly narrowed eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle.  
“Thank you, Garrus. You cannot imagine how much it meant to me… the fondest memories it invoked.”

Slowly she approached him, a new expression in her large eyes – reminiscing, nostalgic, almost painful yet enchanted. Her hands stopped halfway from reaching out for him, trembling uncertainly, like she was fighting an urge to touch him. Her whole graceful frame trembled of some kind of inner struggle, cold features softened when the curtain of indifference dropped replaced by helplessness. He just towered above her, suddenly nervous… wishing to feel her small cool hands on him. He was about to make a step to close the distance…

She stepped back, lowering her hands, and bowed her head regally.

“Thank you,” she repeated, her voice turned small and grieving.

He lowered his eyes to the table with armor pieces to hide the awkwardness. Those deep-drawn thoughts in his mind, how dared he to think of her that way, of a physical contact with someone that majestic and distant… It was inappropriate, it was confusing, he had no idea his subconscious had such kind of hidden impulses. He respected her deeply, admired her, her mysteriousness intrigued him – she was a higher creation, one of the ‘look, don’t touch’ kind…

It probably was a mistake his imagination made up craving for some real affection he missed on Omega. He just should bury that impulse deeper in his mind and forget about it. He didn’t do anything to give it out after all, anything he would regret later. He’d be happy to stay by her side, simply venerating her, not letting the basic instincts or unreasonable feelings ruin her pedestal.

Besides, he couldn’t even stay with her.

He had to say it, no matter how much he hated to say it.  
“I think I recovered well enough to leave. Got to sneak to my base, check on my men, receive the healthy dose of scolding for dropping out of sight…”

She scanned him with a long thoughtful glare, and then smiled faintly.  
“Too bad, I almost became accustomed to your company. I enjoyed our time spent together.”

Her words gave him a strange kind of warm feeling deep inside of his chest. It felt too nice to fight down. He turned to her and grinned.  
“Okay, I’ll leave tomorrow then.”

* * *

They spent half of that night telling stories, and Samara felt like reminiscing the events of her maiden years for the first time during her conversations with him. Her past as a mercenary was truly adventurous, it made Garrus wonder what happened to that woman full of zest, enjoying her life, exploring her talent for combat to turn her into this icy sorrowful… device serving the letter of the Justicar Code. Sometimes he thought he saw a reflection of past joy warming her frozen features, but each time it was gone in a split second before he was sure about it.

That Code felt like a hide for her – she had five thousand Sutras, she had no necessity to think for herself most of the time. No feel of guilt, no responsibility – in exchange for an empty, emotionless and lonely life. Garrus tried to imagine how awful it would be for someone with a lifespan that long. She really had something in her past to hide from, something terrifying. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear that story one day. Probably not.

* * *

“Wait a second. You mean, Aria knows I’ll be in the club and she will set the day and time for this? Why couldn’t we just set a neon billboard “Only one day, Archangel in ‘Afterlife’! Be the first to get his head!”?”

Garrus was adjusting his armor, preparing to leave, he wasn’t in a hurry though – they had a plan to discuss. What Samara just told him – well, he didn’t like it. Trusting Aria was too risky without a few tricks up the sleeve. And he had to be in the club without the sleeves – the armor to hide some tricks in.

“I understand your concern, but you cannot spend every day there as well. We must be sure Morinth is in the club when you go in; Aria will give me a sign when she’s spotted by the surveillance system. Aria gave me her word,” Samara smiled coldly, “And she’s aware of Justicars.”

“Uh-huh, I hope your authority will be enough for me to get out of there in one piece. Fine, how do I find that Morinth and what should I do next?”

“I suggest you won’t even need to seek for her, eventually she’ll find you herself,” the Justicar cocked her head to the side, observing him with a sorrowful glare. “She’s got an excellent sense of prey, honed by centuries of her hunt. Just be yourself, she won’t able to resist.”

“I got your idea; you’re implying that for her it will be written ‘Archangel’ all over me…” he rubbed his mandible. “If I get out of this adventure alive, I’ll end up officially paranoid. But… go on, I’m listening.”

“Few things I know about her: she admires strength, directness and vigor. A young turian rebel like you won’t have a problem with this part, your suicidal bravery would be delicious to her, and you’re so good in telling stories,” she narrowed her eyes, quite playful, he thought. “She’s hedonist, she loves clubs, drugs, loud music, glamour.”

“You must have been digging really hard to learn all this about her,” he put on his gloves, sat on the corner of the table. “I think I can keep this conversation. I wonder if she likes Expel 10, sounds like it’s her kind of music.”

“True,” Samara lowered her eyes, “Killing her has been my focus for 400 years. Also it was the reason why I became a Justicar. Aria gave me a lead too; her last victim, a young girl, lived with her mother not far from the club. I… talked to her mother and promised to avenge her daughter’s death. Poor child was a promising sculptor… Morinth is interested in arts; also she loves a movie called ‘Vaenia’…”

“Oh, I know that movie,” Garrus spread his mandibles in a smirk, “Too sweet and girly for my taste, but the score is cool. As for arts – well, I always wanted to learn how to paint. You know, not the walls with blood – what I settled for…”

“You leave Morinth no chance against you,” once again she had that quick flash of flirtatious spark in her eyes which left him grinning awkwardly. “I’ve thought I saw everything in my life, travelling across the Galaxy, exploring the places most people never heard of. Yet here, in such a nasty place I found someone that interesting…”

That meant nothing, he said to himself, she’s just being appreciative. It didn’t mean what you want to hear in her words…

He nodded curtly.  
“Then I lure her out, you watch and appear when she won’t be expecting it. I got it, glad to have few more days to think over the details.”

Calmly she followed his steps to the door. He turned around to say goodbye, when she cautiously took his gloved hand in hers.  
“Good luck. Expect my message soon.”

He had a silly grin on his face for the half of his way back to his base…


	7. Ch.7

“What the fuck you were thinking of?!”

Just wait till the storm calms down, Garrus smiled inwardly. He had no idea what was he thinking of going to _her_ apartment, but he never regretted it. His men, no matter how much he trusted them, just didn’t need a full picture of things going round his head now.

In fact, he didn’t sort them out yet. So he just smiled – it should’ve looked quite sheepish, but he didn’t care.

“First you tell us to stand back and go for that fucker Garm all alone and we all know what that sick bastard is capable of!”

Right, he remembered, his squad got into a fight with vorcha guarding one of Blood Pack drug storages, while he was sniping few levels higher on the catwalk. He caught a sight of Garm through the warehouse window, he seemed unaware of the fight at the doorstep. That opportunity to catch the Blood Pack leader off guard looked so tempting he threw his assault rifle down in the hands of the closest of his men to drop the unnecessary weight and increase mobility and climbed to the rickety bridge hanging between the buildings. He couldn’t shoot inside anyway for no reinforcements the mercenaries could have in the building to hear him. He couldn’t wait for this firefight to end either, Garm took no notice of their fast attack yet but he could do it any second, and the element of surprise would be lost along with the advantage. Garrus wanted to ensure the vorcha won’t notice his maneuver, so he ordered to relinquish their position over comm for the squad to draw the enemy away.

And, of course, he had no time to explain his spark of inspiration.

“And then you just disappear, damn it! We were thinking the motherfucking Blood Pack got you! Spirits, all the fucked-up shit they could’ve done to you!...”

“Aw, just admit it you worried about me,” he spoke mildly.

“Sure we did, you asshole! You weren’t hurrying to let us know you’re safe, were you? Those three fucking days – we didn’t know what to do, damn it! If you only were unlucky enough for those fuckers to get you alive…”

He sighed, glanced lazily at the figures surrounding him. Rubbed his browplate, as the dull ache in his right temple returned.  
“I was lucky enough to get away alive. Never disbelieve in me once again. Now, I’ve got a headache because of your yelling…”

* * *

His injuries healed quite well, he wasn’t limping anymore, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. That once-in-a-lifetime experience, a rare chance to encounter an ancient, superior, gorgeous being, an opportunity to stay that close to her for a few days. She let him get a small touch of her experience and wisdom, and it meant to him he was the luckiest son of a bitch in whole Galaxy.

And it wasn’t just about him being awestruck – she was distant and superior, and an unexpected kindred spirit at the same time. It fascinated him even more, the fact that his deeds met her deepest interest and approval. Not too many people appreciated his way of getting things done, especially not the turians – it felt warm and nice to meet someone who did. It felt divine to hear the praise from someone like her. He never voiced it, but it gave him great strength and dedication to stick to the path he chose for himself. Shepard would be proud of him, he thought. Samara was proud of him, he knew it.

He missed her.

He couldn’t wait to meet her again. Hear her heels clicking, her calm voice speaking, feel her disquieting unblinking stare on him – and wait for a glimpse of a most beautiful smile to flash in her eyes.

He closed his eyes and recalled her real smile he received once. Even though she wasn’t a turian, he couldn’t but admire her chiseled features, the noble simplicity of the way she moved, her regal bearing…

…His omni-tool beeped, signaling him he just received a new urgent message.

* * *

Garrus felt naked, blind and vulnerable without his armor and visor – but he had to go in without drawing suspicion. He passed the VIP area bouncer, still not comfortable with the idea of Aria knowing he’s going to be here. She promised her thugs and club staff won’t know, but could he rely on her word only? They had no direct confrontations, yet she still was the outlaw queen of Omega, she’s been breaking the rules and taking back her own words since time immemorial.

On the other hand, from what he had learned recently, fucking with a Justicar should be a bad idea even for Aria. She was ruthless, despotic, but not stupid at all. Samara probably was his lucky ticket in and out of Aria’s lair.

It felt strange, to be a pawn in the game between the three powerful asari, centuries older than him yet still needing him to play a crucial part. Pretty ambitious pawn he was, since the three of the wisest Council race needed a turian to wrap it up.

Act natural, he said to himself. You’re just one of the crowd, you’re here to have fun, get drunk and pick up some chicks. You’re not acting paranoid, not scanning people for hidden weapons, not watching your back – at least not visibly.

He chose the farthest bar though, where a grumpy-looking human man was making an extremely busy impression by mirror-polishing the counter. No wonder, there weren’t many people ordering. Suited him well.

Garrus pointed at the dextro side of bottles collection and ordered a drink. He couldn’t help but peered around; his spot was rather convenient to keep most part of the area in sight.

The bartender pushed the glass to him; Garrus took it and noticed a small card with Omega logo under it. He slid it in his pocket automatically; his mind raced trying to figure out was it a sign of a trap set by Aria.

Everyone seemed indifferent.

His visor certainly would provide him more complex data, but he couldn’t pick any changes in the postures and lazy glances of the bouncers; the bartenders were doing the same pouring routine, the dancers were twisting along with the rhythms.

He felt an urge to change his observation point and moved across the dancefloor to choose another one.

A sudden touch in the crowd – he spun around and froze before intent silvery-blue eyes… 

First he thought she followed him. He wanted to ask, why Samara is here, why she changed her outfit to one of asari commando, and then he noticed the person standing in front of him isn’t her.

She was still in her maiden years.  
Darker lips.  
Strange, predatory gleam of those huge eyes he had a chance to admire every day and become mesmerized by.

“I’ve never expected to meet you here. This place just turned entertaining.”

She was Samara’s exact copy, minus age and facial expressions.  
He felt like he’s lost.

“You’re definitely an unexpected person in this place,” the asari gave him a sharp smile. Her voice. Another different thing. “My name is Morinth. I’ve been watching you since you came here.”

He shifted _too nervously_ from foot to foot, she let out a short laughter, lowering her voice to a seductive murmur.  
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to give up on a chance to leave this club with… _Archangel_ tonight. I’m not interested in selling you out.”

Her hand slid up his arm, her eyes were on him and that mocking lopsided smile spoke of persistence. Relax, he told himself, she’s positively not the one to give you away. She’s the one with different strategy.

“I think our interests are similar somehow… How did you know?”

Morinth shrugged, stretching her back, giving him a sidelong glance.  
“It’s something in your posture, in perfect position you’re choosing to observe people here. In your eyes, it distinguishes you from mercs around here. The details are subtle, but they sum up.”

“You seem to have a knack for sniper positions,” he grinned.

“If you join me, you could learn about many other things I find fascinating,” the asari bared her teeth in a provocative leer, “I’ve got a wide range of interests, what about you?”

* * *

He hardly remembered how many hours they spent in the club. Morinth led him to a booth in a chillout zone where they were able to talk without shouting. She was so… amazing. They talked about music, cinema, sculpture – they shared many things in common, he already forgot when he had someone to talk about arts. For a second he thought he’d love to go to the Expel 10 concert with her. There was dark lure in her eyes when he was telling her about his fight with Garm, she laughed at the episode of his unfortunate experience with Red Sand. He grinned back; talking with her was so nice and easy.

He wished Samara could be so revealing. He wished she let him get closer.  
He wondered was she like that in her maiden years she told him some stories about.

Spirits, Morinth was irresistible. And he hardly could find a reason to resist. Her chiseled features copied Samara’s face – the face he had before his eyes when he went to sleep for the last week, the face he dreamed about. Samara’s grace and beauty – and Morinth’s passionate interest, in life, in death, in fun, in arts – in him. In his bold dreams he imagined Samara looking at him the same _admiring_ way.

And now he met Morinth…

It didn’t seem fair that he had to meet her under such circumstances. He could’ve done it earlier, Spirits, he could’ve gotten her to have a chance to enjoy it… Her voice, her eyes, her elegant body promised him unreal pleasures past belief, and he couldn’t come up with an excuse for rejection.

He couldn’t remember how they made it to her apartment. He just nodded, hypnotized by the black rims of her irises, when she proposed to go to her place, telling him she wanted him alone.  
She wanted him, which was all that mattered.

In the cab her hand slid up his thigh, agonizing sensation, air between them thick with lust. She devoured him with those intent light eyes which had the same wicked sparks in them – only they flared unashamedly.

And now they were making out on her couch…

Her gentle hands traveled along his body, she probably helped herself with tiny biotic impulses – he never felt such stimulation in his whole life, she really got under his plates. Half of the buckles, holding her uniform, were undone; her textured skin shimmered in dim light. Her lips on his neck, his tongue on hers – two bodies rocking against each other in sensual frenzy. His mind gave up, he felt lightheaded, he was in love.

He wanted her.

He dreamt of holding this body in his arms, of her on top of him, gracious, experienced, distant – that made her gaze, when she focused it on him feel like there’s only two of them in this whole Galaxy. He wanted to tear off the clothes, to feel her skin, to pin down that slender body, to let himself plunge into her and make love to her like there’s no tomorrow. He had no idea what does melding feel like, but it must’ve been something exquisitely intimate, engulfing, overloading all senses.

As if reading his thoughts she backed off a bit and her eyes turned pitch black. Cool thin fingers gently brushed the overheated skin on his neck.

“Look into my eyes and tell you want me…”

He drowned into her eyes, whole world swirling into black hole. There was only her who existed for him. There was only him who existed for her.

“I want you… Samara.”


	8. Ch.8

Morinth jerked, reeled back, beautiful features distorted by disgust, fear, anger. Her voice turned sharp and lost its charm.  
“What?...” she bared her teeth in a grimace of repulsion. “I see. The bitch herself found a little helper…”

The ugliness of her hate reflecting on that beautiful face shattered the spell; it helped him to free his mind from her tenacious grip a little. She wasn’t Samara. Morinth wasn’t the woman he imagined with him. He pushed her away from him, starting to feel dizzy and sick. He caught a furious expression on her evil face, some consciousness remaining on the back of his mind ringing a bell belatedly. He’s alone with a mad biotic serial killer, and he just pissed her off.

He gritted his teeth, trying to regain control over his own limbs, thoughts and wishes, expecting a fight for his dear life… 

And then the door burst open with a powerful biotic wave.

A slender figure in red uniform with golden lining stepped inside the apartment, her gait light yet purposeful. Samara squared her shoulders, her eyes burning with cold vengefulness. Blue flame enveloped her, and she sent a destructive blast of energy across the room, hurling Morinth away from him.

“It’s time to pay for your crimes, Morinth.”

She slammed the Ardat-Yakshi into the large window, thick armored glass cracked from the impact, but Morinth hadn’t planned to go down that easy. Damn, she was strong, even for Samara. The couches were thrown apart, as the bubble-like shield surrounded her form and expanded, forcing the Justicar to spring back and loose her hold.

“My only crime was being born with the gift you gave me!” Morinth shouted, effortlessly lifting one of the chairs and sending it flying at Samara. The older asari stumbled and fell, but still managed to send her opponent sprawling with a counterblow.

Garrus’ hazy mind barely maintained his own balance without being hit by flying furniture or biotic splashes; two incredibly strong biotics were tearing this place apart, willing to take each other by their throats. Otherwise he would pay more attention to Morinth’s strange words. What was she implying to?

“I am the genetic destiny of the Asari!” Morinth yelled. The immense biotic fields clashing lifted the whole furniture nearby and sent it spinning round the two graceful figures, which froze in front of their enchanted spectator.

“You’re only a disease to be purged,” Samara’s voice hoarsened; she held her stance with greater effort. It seemed like a draw, no one of them was able to overpower the opponent. “Nothing more!”

Morinth, still fighting back with no less strength, withdrew her eyes from the Justicar’s and suddenly casted her glance at the turian. Garrus cringed; he felt her mind control over him started to crawl back up his spine, paralyzing his limbs…

“I know your secret,” her seductive voice was back again, it sounded more strained this time though, “But you’ll never get it from her. Help me, and…”

He caught a glimpse of Samara shooting him a look; silvery eyes terrified by the realization he’s not quite in control of himself. His vision slowly becoming misted by the evil spell of Ardat-Yakshi…

He.  
Had.  
To.  
Do.  
It.

All he saw before his eyes blackened out was a sheer surprise in the silvery-blue light orbs with black rims, when his naturally plated, bony turian elbow connected with a blue temple with an audible crack.

* * *

He reached out, grabbed something that felt like a couch arm and pushed himself up, sat his back against it. His eyes hurt like hell after that blinding flash which broke the dark veil Morinth put on him, but he started to see the silhouettes of things around him.

He still was in her apartment, furniture scattered around like children’s toys.

Samara.

She stood few steps away from him, over Morinth’s dead body, staring at her in silence. All for the best, he shivered, recalling the strangling sensation of her dominating power over him. He wouldn’t deny he enjoyed his time with her… but he was glad it was over.

Was it?

He stood up, head spinning slightly, and approached the Justicar – still, sorrowful and silent.  
“You owe me an explanation, I think…”

She turned her head with jerky motion, startled, as if just realized he was there.

“She’s got… your face.”

Slowly she faced him. Her eyes scanned him through – from his feet to his eyes, and he felt that turmoil of emotions in them that she let to appear for a second. Her grief and pain, slight relief and overwhelming uncertainty.

It still was the face of the dead asari at her feet. Still beautiful in death, now calm and almost pretty without that evil expression.

He shifted his glance from one asari to another.

“It’s a long and unpleasant story,” Samara spoke quietly. “Why don’t we move out of here… somewhere nicer? I cannot stay in this place any longer.”

* * *

Samara crossed her legs in her meditation pose; Garrus sat beside her on the floor of her room. For a few torturing seconds she just stared in front of her.

“She was my daughter,” her calm voice spoke finally.

Now all the things he couldn’t make out about her from her words started to make sense. Her sorrow, the hidden pain in her eyes and voice, her wish to estrange herself from the rest of the world and hide behind the premade decisions of the Code – it all must’ve been horrible. And he couldn’t blame her for that.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally. “You could’ve told me…”

“I didn’t ask for your pity,” the coldness of her voice nettled him, “Only for your help. I must thank you, it… wasn’t easy. For both of us.”

“It could’ve been easier for me if I was prepared to meet… your dead ringer,” he grumbled, rubbing his neck. Wrong timing – and just a split second could’ve meant a nasty end for them both. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. He had no idea, how strong his affection has developed until Morinth skillfully pulled the strings.

Samara looked in his eyes with a slightly surprised expression; Garrus wondered was she really that oblivious as she was trying to appear. He sensed the question in her gaze, but it was left unasked – much to his relief. She lowered her eyes and let out a light sigh.

“I… am truly impressed by your strong will. For a second I’ve thought she gained full control over your mind…”

You not just thought, Garrus mentally noted, remembering her eyes back then during the fight, it really frightened you. Now he knew, behind this cold façade she could feel too – and maybe she felt something for him. She probably felt much more than made her comfortable for someone who spent centuries in isolation from the most part of society. He couldn’t blame her for that either, especially after the thing he just learned about her. She should’ve isolate her heart from affection as well, he felt bad for himself wishing to draw it out of her icy shelter.

“Almost,” he replied dryly. “I’m glad it’s over.”

The Justicar hung her head in calm mourning.  
“Yes. I just killed the smartest and bravest of my daughters,” her voice dropped. “My mission as a Justicar is fulfilled. There’s nothing this life has to offer me anymore.”

The hopeless fatalism in her voice made him shiver. He hoped she didn’t imply she was about to end her life. Other species’ tone variations were different from turian, but he spent many years on the multiracial Citadel for some signs of dangerous kinds of mood to ring a bell.

The asari continued, her beautiful but lifeless voice speaking as if telling the story of someone else – someone eternally distant who didn’t matter.

“I’ve experienced everything the galaxy had for me. Then I’ve paid for all the fun I’ve had as a maiden. Killing Morinth was my focus for the last four centuries… and a reason I became a Justicar. Now for the first time in four centuries I am free. I am a ruined vessel of sorrow and regret… but I am free.”

“Don’t you have anything… anyone else left in your life?”

He didn’t notice he asked it out loud – until she threw a bewildered look over her shoulder, scanned him with her intent eyes.

“I’ve had three daughters. And there were three diagnosed Ardat-Yakshi I knew of before we dealt with Morinth.”

He opened his mouth, unable to pick the right words. She nodded, looking at his puzzled expression.  
“It is as it sounds. It was my fault.”

The realization struck him; she was much lonelier than he could ever suggest. Samara continued nevertheless, not waiting for him to ask further questions.  
“Two of them chose the life in seclusion. The third fled. I gave away all my possessions and swore the Oath to stop her. The rest you know…”

She turned away from him regally, her stare focused somewhere miles away outside of the window. Garrus nodded. He knew this conversation is over, as well as his time with her.  
“Samara… I’m glad I met someone like you. I only wish…”

He wanted so much to tell her, how he hated the implication of the ending of her life, wanted to ensure she won’t commit suicide – even though he had nothing to propose her to change her mind if so; how much the injustice left in this Galaxy needed more people like her.

How much she did to him, taught him, made him sure about; the things she made him feel. How much she meant to him now.

“I wish I could meet you again,” were the only words he dared to say.

He stood up, she raised her eyes to meet his and followed him. She was so small and fragile compared to his height – and the supernatural strength hidden in that elegant woman form was one of the true miracles of this Galaxy. Garrus could only imagine how it must feel – to find out all her children are monsters needed to be caged or destroyed. By her own hands.

“I can not promise… But thanks for your kind words. And all the time spent with you for me to remember.”

The unexpected softening of her voice and expression caught him unprepared. He even let her reach up to touch his face, slender hand cupping his cheek - he wanted this moment to last forever. His hand landed on top of hers, feeling her thin fingers through the double layer of their gloves.

Samara smiled once again, one of her precious smiles that were too rare to undervalue.  
“You chose your path well, Garrus, you’d make a Justicar proud. Don’t let anything change you or take that inner spark away from you.”

Her words and her smile gave him the warmest feeling he could remember. Even the cold shower of her next words couldn’t make him stop grinning.

“Because I’d hate to have to kill you next time we cross paths.”

Spirits, he will do anything to make her proud.


	9. Ch.9

It was the fifth test he ran on the card he brought from the ‘Afterlife’. His omni-tool already had downloaded the most sophisticated extensions for keycard script hacking, yet he still couldn’t find anything really suspicious. It was an ‘Afterlife’ private rooms’ pass card, simple un-lock encoding – not without a particular scripting style, but that was probably Aria’s fancy. It also had to send a confirmation signal to the surveillance system at the same time as the door opens, which wasn’t unusual for such a place where a lot of people could cause lots of troubles.

There must’ve been a trick somewhere. Why was this keycard given to him? Was it an invitation of some sort?

Garrus picked up another thing out of his pocket. A small container with the drug Mordin gave him. Shit, he was so confident and fell under the charms of an Ardat-Yakshi that fast he forgot to use it. Oh, hell, he forgot everything in fact.

Carefully he unsealed it, fished out few half-transparent capsules filled with powder and studied them attentively.

Well, Aria made an appointment. She didn’t like to wait. And he didn’t like to handle such appointments unprepared.

Now he won’t lose his head. Aria definitely wasn’t the kind of asari he’d lose his head over.

* * *

He wasn’t surprised when the card opened the door, smooth and quiet, without setting off any alarm. He just walked in and waited until the door slid back. His visor, the only part of his gear he allowed himself to wear, scanned the small room for security cameras. He was previously seen in casual clothes Mordin brought him – he couldn’t let Aria or anyone else memorize his custom set of armor now.

Much to his own surprise he wasn’t nervous anymore. Since Samara left he had not much to risk. Now he just wanted to settle this case with Aria, not expecting it to be pleasant.

Actually, he wasn’t scared. If Aria wanted him dead, he’d already knew it; in fact he did nothing to really piss her off. Yet. He could only guess why she would want to talk.

He wasn’t surprised when the small table in the middle sank into the floor and after a few seconds appeared with two bottles and two glasses on it. The service was good, he noted, and the dextro bottle was exactly of the same kind he ordered in the VIP section. Aria wouldn’t invite him over just to poison, that was for sure. He uncorked the bottle and poured himself a glass, trying to look nonchalant on cameras.

He needed all his confidence to deal with Aria T’Loak.

He lowered himself on the couch, the table between him and the door. The room obviously had no secret passages, he wondered if the delivery shaft under the table was supposed to serve as a fire or other emergencies exit.

He wasn’t surprised when the door opened with a soft hiss.

“Well, well, well, just look what we have here…”

A dark slender asari silhouette stood in a doorway – alone. Hand on her cocked hip, she made a dramatic pause and strode in, locking the door behind her back.

Aria landed on the couch next to him, elbows set wide on its back, long legs crossed. She gave the wall in front of her a little smile, not looking at her guest.

“The infamous Archangel himself! That’s what I call VIP.”

“I’m flattered,” he replied without looking at her either, “I’m just wondering how many received such a warm personal greeting in your search for me.”

Aria turned her head with a smirk.  
“A good club owner knows the public well. Especially the VIP clientele. And I’m the best.”

She turned away from him again.  
“The rest was easy.”

Dead silence enveloped the room for several seconds. Garrus broke it first.

“So, Aria, what did you want me for?”

Her face paint on eyebrows rose slightly.  
“Me? It was you who came.”

He leaned forward, demonstratively placing the card on the table with a click.

“You made sure I’ll come.”

She crossed her arms, grinned and stood up, pacing the small room. The ruler of Omega still had such a weakness for scenic poses and dramatic effects. Yet… she had nice legs, which measured the space they were locked in with long sliding steps.

“Be a gentleman and offer me a drink first!”

The provocative and assured smile of Aria hit a nerve inside of him he never though he had before. Another asari trying to play with him. What was he – some kind of servant here? Omega ruler was the bad person for someone like him to exchange words with in any circumstances, but he had the trick up his sleeve right there with him.

It probably was the best chance he’d ever get. The small capsule shattered without a sound when his talons crushed it above the glass, another hand lowering the bottle to hide his movement from the perceptive eye of Aria T’Loak. He could only have one chance with her, she didn’t get her hands on Omega and managed to hold her ground because of being unwary.

Garrus grinned back at her, passing her a glass, not giving his irritation away with a single move of the muscle. Her thin lips stretched in a lopsided smirk. Another theatrical pause, when she tasted her drink.

“So? As far as I recall, I’ve had no problems with you.”

She gave him a short wave of her hand.  
“If you ever had, you won’t be sitting here. Not every young troublemaker receives such a hearty welcome from me.”

“I should be honored, right,” he grumbled, feeling stupid for walking in this trap all by himself. Aria continued, ignoring his displeasure, her voice derisive.

“You saved me a lot of trouble, getting rid of these two bitches at once.”

That was too much for his spark of anger to ignite, even in front of that dangerous woman. Maybe the alcohol gave him more courage than he wanted to show.

“Don’t you dare speak of Samara this way…”

Aria raised a brow and laughed, her attentive eyes sparking with new interest.  
“Wow, you two managed to become close? Who could’ve thought an old seductress has a weak spot for turian rebels…”

“No comments,” he hissed, barely holding back from more harsh replies he’d regret about.

The asari crossed her arms on her chest, still smiling, and that smile spoke of nothing good on her mind.  
“You’re tough, Omega has a great potential for those like you. Or a grave with no name on it, which is more likely.”

She made another pause, giving more of her attention to the glass in her hand than to the turian next to her.  
“That rebellious spirit of yours makes you break the rules, Archangel, and I doubt you plan to stop soon. I don’t like it – but if I liked everything about you, it would be either suspicious or plain boring. You’ve got a quad, and I’m surprised you still have it here with me.”

Garrus leaned back; he started to wish he just ignored that damned keycard and threw it away. This was getting somewhere unpleasant and dangerous.

“I never intended to touch your rule.”

“Smart kid. But not too smart. You tend to piss off nearly everyone at this station. Maybe you even piss me off a little.”

Her purple finger pointed straight at him, but that was the only sign of her noticing his presence. Her monologue went on like a theatrical play learned by heart.

“Because you remind me of myself. And I don’t think I should tolerate two persons like me at one asteroid…”

She certainly noticed his tensing posture; he could hardly control his nervousness from now. Aria didn’t arrange this meeting just to see him in person. But was it to get rid of a cocky newcomer before he becomes dangerous?

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, you won’t be able to stroll right here,” he barely withheld himself from jumping of surprise, when a thin palm patted his arm. “You add some… entertainment around this place, keeping the gangs on their toes.”

He brushed her hand aside coldly.  
“Cut it off, Aria. What do you want?”

“Hah, famous turian direct approach,” she suddenly unfolded her legs, turned and leaned closer to him in one fluid motion. He backed off slightly, trying not to show his discomposure.

“Entertainment is what I appreciate here,” her thin lips with a dark stripe in the middle touched the rim of glass, she took a quick sip and set a glass aside; electric blue eyes scanned him shamelessly.

“You’re even kind of pretty,” her hand caught him off-guard, landing on his lower chest, too close to his stomach. She knew what she was doing with her hand on his body, her unceremonious touch and haughty smile spoke of it. “Nice body – I’ve heard what you’re able to do with it…”

“How about the other things, not involving wrestling krogans?” she all but purred, confirming his worst expectations.

He wondered how many people were ever let to see Aria that close. Strong, confident, despotic, with a habit to take things she wanted by force. He hated to become one of these things, he never planned to.

“Ain’t… touching your rule.”

He hated the way she narrowed her eyes, it reminded him of the mocking look Morinth gave him, a bald assurance the toy he was for them won’t escape. He gritted his teeth as she straddled his thighs and moved her hand lower to his abdomen; the shivers ran down his spine, unexpectedly pleasant shivers of restrained need… lust. He hated it, an ugly parody of the thoughts he tried so hard to avoid, thoughts about another asari.

“Think twice. What if I… allow you to break it?”

He pushed her away from him, she threw back her shoulders with a victorious smile, preparing a biotic charge to unleash on him – to hit him, maybe hold him or paralyze. Garrus bared his teeth, waiting for the impact… but the blue flame barely surrounded the asari frame and faded. A glimpse of utter puzzlement taking the shine off Aria’s arrogant expression was truly priceless, but he had no time to enjoy the view. Now when he knew the drug worked and she wasn’t able to use her biotics against him, his anger rose. She tried to play with him, she thought she’s in control – and she was wrong. Now it was his time to show her she’s not the toughest one here.

They all tried to play with him by their rules. Tease him, leave him frustrated. But not this time.

“If I want to break your only rule…”

He grabbed her wrists roughly, pinning them to the back of the couch before she understood her biotics won’t help her anymore. Now he brought his face too close to hers, admiring her eyes narrowing in fury.

“I’ll do it my way and not by your permission.”


	10. Ch.10

Aria showed her teeth, twisted her torso and threw him off balance with a sharp thrust of her knee. They rolled on the floor, one of her hands broke free and tried to dig the blunt fingernails into the skin on his neck, small teeth scraping against the plates on his wrist. He pinned her down with his weight for a split second to tear off one of his gloves with his teeth. The next moment she threw him off her. His arm shot forward, talons leaving bleeding marks on her thigh and grabbing the straps of her outfit. The heel of her boot kicked precisely under his chest plates, knocking the air out of his lungs; the commando training didn’t leave her harmless even unarmed and without the biotics. Yet he was one of the top-rank hand-to-hand specialists in the turian military…

He tried not to deliver any really crushing blow, to be rather gentle with her since he took his advantage of her. Her furious snarls became louder when he managed to put her into an armlock; he grabbed a fistful of her suit straps, half-cut by his talons, and tore them off, wrapping them around her wrists behind her back. Her kick attempts were getting weaker, unable to reach any unarmored part of his body, her breath fast and ragged, so was his.

Now the Omega queen was on her knees, beneath him, tied and helpless. He was catching his breath, holding her down to the floor, blood boiling and the spots she managed to kick him in starting to hurt. Much to his surprise Garrus enjoyed this much more than he could suggest. His pent-up frustration was rising inside of him, heated up with the fight, with his anger. He wanted to show Aria she’s not the only one to never fuck with, and at that moment he could think of only one thing to make his point clear.

Quick gasps, sharp thrusts, bodies entwining – good sparring and good sex were so alike. Back in his days in the turian military Garrus grew used to one kind of physical contact leading to another pretty often; eyes scintillating anger and blood lust just seconds before eyeing the opponent with a different kind of appraisal, bodies heated up from close contact craving for more intimacy. Now his breath trembled, sweet shivering sensation running through his young body, he didn’t feel like thinking anymore.

The Omega ruler herself was beneath him after all.

Taloned fingers reached for the high collar of Aria’s vest. Long and rough tongue ran over purple skin of the asari, cool and leathery, and he felt the subtle flexing of muscles on her neck. She didn’t move, and he wondered was she waiting for a chance to catch him off-guard to strike once again. Desperation could be a hell of a strength booster, he knew it too good, and he put her in a desperate position, and was about to use it.

He slid his palms along her curves, feeling strange smooth body in his arms. His talons ripped off the rest of her pants straps, careless grab made the purple blood trickle down her hip. Aria hissed through her teeth, her body jerking and trying to twist out of his hold, he cut off her thrashing with a slight press of his teeth on her neck. She inhaled deeply, her frame still and strained, when he pulled her torn garment down and unzipped his own pants.

He was almost surprised when he emerged out of his plates with little effort. Not that he wanted her; actual arousal didn’t matter in this case, just muscle control and anger… frustration… irritation. She tried to resist, but he pushed in, her soft and cool compared to turian women flesh enveloped him. She gasped without a sound, head thrown back, slender body pushed back. He slammed in harder, feeling unfamiliar bouncing of her supple parts under his palms.

His burning rage set the pace, he didn’t care for Aria’s suppressed grunts, the act was raw and mechanical – in, out and in again, up to the hilt into her tight resisting moistness. She writhed beneath him, bucking her hips for him to gain the convenient angle, his teeth dug slightly into the textured skin on her neck – he was too blinded by lust and anger to notice the way she opened up her neck for him spoke of her being familiar with turians. Sign of submission, acceptance of his dominance, it only heated him up.

Aria moaned louder as he sped up, his thrusts getting sharp and merciless. He enjoyed it, simple primal friction, he tried to ignore the body temperature lower than his and weird soft curves deforming under his strong grip. Their shallow breath came out like a club rhythm, hot, steamy, filled with uncovered lust.

Her body convulsed in ecstasy, inner walls squeezing his member – he was about to come himself, but not that way. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out with effort, when his seed spilled on her back and round firm ass. He groaned with deep satisfaction; he suppressed his bodily needs for too long on Omega. Figures – on Omega, where filth and sin ruled the place, he avoided getting intimate with anyone since he arrived. It became almost a rule for him, it was too dangerous for his little war, even strippers and street whores could’ve worked for the gangs.

And now he broke his rule for Aria T’Loak. Breaking her only rule at once.

Slowly he backed off, realization leisurely crawling up his spine with cold shivers – straight to his sobering brain. Finally he got what he asked for - that was his sure death warrant signed; from now on his life would be rather unpleasant, but relatively short.

Nothing mattered anymore, nothing could help him. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the gentle club beats thrumming muffled by the private room soundproof walls, trying not to laugh out loud. He probably wasn’t smart at all for such suicidal behavior.

It was a funny idea, to die because of fucking the wrong person after all. He pissed off the three most powerful Terminus gangs and none of them would have a chance to get him – because Aria won’t let anyone else get his head after what he just did. He couldn’t suppress a snort and sighed.

Aria looked at him with unreadable expression. She rolled on her side, sliding her tied arms underneath her legs, then bit on the straps once they were in front of her.

“You’ve got temper, Archangel,” her voice gave out no more emotions than her glare.

“Let it be quick, Aria,” he growled quietly. “If it’s time for me to die, execute me without the sweet talking.”

She measured him with a long stare of narrowed eyes, and much to his surprise grinned, massaging her wrists.

“You’ve got real quad. You dared to talk to me that way, you made my biotics betray me, you tried to catch me by surprise…”

Her smile became different somehow… more like a real smile, not a mockery. It was weird to witness.  
“And what’s important, you succeed. You know you shouldn’t be alive by now… if you didn’t. But you did.”

She sat on the floor, her legs crossed, ignoring her shredded clothes. She wiped her thigh and licked a finger nonchalantly.  
“You’ve had a lot of chances to screw up. If your trick didn’t work … if you left after you tied me up. If you did anything I won’t like. One signal to my guards with my omni-tool, and you’d be dead already. But you didn’t quail and played it cool…”

“And you’re damn good at this game,” now he was sure this expression was never seen on her face. Not mischievous anymore, but flirty and a bit dreamy. It was strange, he looked at this dominant woman from a new angle.

“Does it mean, I fucked with Aria and was left to live?” he asked absentmindedly, grabbing a bottle and taking a swig out of it.

Her silence and measuring lopsided smile became uncomfortable before she spoke.  
“You’re one lucky son of a bitch. Since Aria loved it.”

“Can I go now?” Garrus shrugged. He rose from the couch, adjusting his clothes. Slender purple arm reached for the table, grabbed it to stand up.

“Don’t forget your invitation pass…”

The damned keycard gleamed between her fingers. He shook his head.

“No, thanks. One encounter was thrilling; I prefer not turning it into routine…”

“Don’t be a bigger idiot than you already are, Archangel,” the familiar brazen tone of Omega ruler was back. “Too many people are after you, you cannot afford a luxury to reject me.”

She approached slowly, swaying her hips, locked her eyes with his. Put a keycard in his pocket.

“I’ve got a proposal. You might find a good use of some interesting rumors around the gangs and their plans, don’t you?”

He sighed. What did he get himself into?..  
“What’s your interest?”

She laughed, eyes shining with that strangely sincere expression. Her hand landed on his upper arm, and he didn’t jerk it back this time.

“Call me a sucker for reckless young idealistic bravery you turians are good at like no other race.”

“Sex in exchange for information, is that what you’re implying?”

She tilted her head, cocking her curvy hip, arms folded on her chest.  
“You’re saying it like you didn’t enjoy our first time. I won’t mind trying it again, prepared for you…”

“I’ve thought you enjoyed it because I caught you unprepared,” he grinned. He started to understand the new rules. That was new Aria he never heard of… hardly anyone heard of in a long time. Maybe she wasn’t half bad, but the arrogant and cruel Aria T’Loak was still there as well.

“Smart kid,” she gave him a charming smile, looking dangerous and regal like a real pirate queen with her clothes ripped and deep scratches over her body, “I love smart ones. You don’t sound too talkative as well, but I’d prefer to warn you – no bragging about breaking my rule. And we can be good friends… with benefits.”

“You won’t need to remind me,” he grumbled. “But I’d like to insist on one thing. I’d prefer our next meetings to be in some more private place.”

He crossed the room, trying to keep his gait steady – his knees were almost shaking after being an inch away from certain unpleasant death. He felt Aria smiling watching him go.

It was a hell of a weird day.


	11. 11

He tried to think it over – was it some kind of right decision or not; and he had no answer to it. The information he was receiving out of their mutual agreement was a great deal – the gangs were choking on their own bile but he was always several steps ahead of them. The legend spread faster with each successful operation, the rise of Archangel was unbelievable even for his own men. He couldn’t but feel proud of himself when he saw the awe in their eyes, when he just led them through the toughest fights with ease and style; he couldn’t but smirk bitterly remembering what was the price for his impossible knowledge of all ins and outs. He knew he will receive another short message soon – encoded through the same protocol he used to exchange messages with his team.

Just this time the message won’t be from someone of them. And it will mean he’s got a date.

Kind of.

And he had to leave their base. He saw the question in his men’s eyes when he walked past them without saying a word – none of them asked a thing. Ever. They trusted him. They believed whatever he’s doing he’s doing for their best. They believed in Archangel – in a myth, in a symbol, a supernatural creation possessing higher knowledge and skills.

They never asked where he disappeared for several hours or what was he doing, when no one of them had the right to follow or interrupt him. As if he would tell if they did. Each time he just left them wondering and headed for the luxurious apartments of the Omega ruler. He wondered could he remain silent in front of silvery-blue eyes if he saw the same question in their gaze looking through him. He wondered what would he tell her – probably the truth, but what was the truth about this whole arrangement? 

Would she approve his decision?

He still couldn’t believe he received that kind of proposal from Aria T’Loak. He couldn’t understand why he accepted it.

He couldn’t figure out what was her interest.

He tried to think he’s doing it for his men, for his good deeds to continue, to become less risky. Maybe to study Aria better.

He hated to think she’s doing it to study him.

“You’re damn funny, Archangel…”

He could hardly believe he was sitting on a couch next to Aria T’Loak in her enormous apartment. He assumed the place for their meetings was one of her places to stay all over the station, probably for sexual activities; the huge arsenal of various sex toys and gears for perverted games spoke clearly of the purpose of that place.

First Aria tried to insist he used this arsenal on her, but he always did it the way he wanted. He learned well what excited this powerful woman – she enjoyed being not in charge for a while, and he was okay with it. Sometimes he handcuffed her, but that was the only extra devices he used during their activities. He just threw her on the floor most of the times and fucked her senseless. Or on the table. Or against the window.

It was just business, no emotions, no affection; just good quality sex they both enjoyed. He had no illusions about Aria’s motives and sentiments towards him, even when she crawled on the floor before him or screamed on the peak of physical bliss. They had an agreement, not love, not cuddling, not relationship. After sex they just sat on her couch, keeping the distance, and talked; she let herself be that smiley self that made him think of a maiden dancer flirting with him, not a cruel Omega ruler with an iron fist.

Yet the Omega ruler was still there, staying hidden in the shadows behind that smile, observing him with cold measuring curiosity of a scientist studying a test subject.

She never did anything to repulse him, to make him reconsider their mutual agreement. She walked on the edge with her snarky comments and playing like pushing him around – but she never went too far to hurt his pride bad enough, only taunt him to test his temper.

He poured two glasses of her expensive drinks and handled the levo one to her.

“You’re trying to make that serious impression of wisdom and experience, while you’re almost a kid,” she paused before finishing with a pinprick, “The Justicar was right, you are truly charming.”

“She said that about me?” he asked mechanically, memories of Samara stung immediately, forcing him to hide his feelings in the glass.

“Oh,” Aria raised a brow with a triumphant lilt in her voice. “The gorgeous Justicar left our little Omega hero heartbroken?”

“No,” he grumbled, sounding not too convincing. The asari smirked.

“Turians are awful liars.”

They sat in silence, she was studying him sipping his drink awkwardly. Then she asked.

“Do you imagine her instead of me, when we fuck?”

“No,” he repeated, honestly for this time. He never imagined it. He never felt anything. Just a raw act of getting off. Maybe a bit of pride, to have notorious Aria weak and submissive in his arms.

She gave him a content nod.

“What I really love about you turians is your attitude towards casual sexual encounters. Any other race would think a lot of inappropriate and inexcusable things in your place. Feel special, get too cocky. You just come when I want you, do what I want you to do with me, keep me a company for a bit and leave for your little vigilante games.”

“No, Aria,” he narrowed his eyes, “I do what I want with you. You’re lucky it’s the same kind of things you want.”

“Cocky bastard,” she laughed. “Do you need to be reminded – one wrong word, wrong look, wrong move, and you’re worse than dead. Your position isn’t special – it’s very risky actually.”

“Maybe I love it this way. That’s why I will do everything right,” Garrus replied, staring her square in the eyes.

“Charming,” she sighed with a tired sour smile. “Idiots like you usually get a nasty end. Because you ask for it.”

“Not today, Aria,” he grinned sidelong at her, “Not before I break the rules of this particular game we play.”

“You tend to break the rules, Archangel, somebody’s going to make you pay the price of it on Omega – sooner or later.”

“Apparently, it won’t be you, since after breaking your only rule I ended up here.”

Aria slid closer, looking in his eyes, wrapped her arms around his neck – her eyes turned black, as she leaned to him…

Cold sticky terror stiffened his spine – so much like that time with Morinth. He knew only Ardat-Yakshi melding was lethal, but couldn’t help his reflexes. He forcefully turned her head away from his face, that roughly she almost fell off the couch. He grabbed her shoulder, she blinked with her normal eyes, strangely content expression ghosting her face.

“No melding,” he warned her dryly.

“Now you’re making rules?” her tone was quiet and playful. He knew what he needed to do.

“Yes,” he answered. “And you will have to beg me for excuse.”

“How dare you,” she hissed. “Aria never begs…”

He pushed her off the couch, she landed on her fours in front of him. She loved this game, him playing dominant. Her deft fingers slid to his crotch, and he felt tiny biotic fields getting through his plates to make him experience things he never dreamt of.

“Why are you doing it?” he asked out loud. Aria raised her eyes on him.

“What’s in it for you?” he rephrased the question with an estranged voice.

Aria sat on her heels with a cold smirk.  
“Trying to figure me out, Archangel?”

She stood up, eyeing him, grabbed her glass and turned to the window.  
“Maybe I just like to get what I want. Maybe not only that. Don’t think my motives are primitive enough for your pretty head to understand. Better luck next time.”


	12. Chapter 12

Gun smoke.

It was so thick in the small room refurnished to become the last line of defense the burned-out heatsinks seemed to float in the air after being thrown out of the rifle. Or maybe that lazy slow motion was only in his head, heavy with exhaustion. The smoke hazed his eyes with a cloudy veil playing tricks with his strained vision, sometimes all he had to rely on was his visor’s targeting system. It left the sickening sweet taste in his mouth even through the filters of his helmet – he doubted he could ever get rid of this taste. That would be the last taste he savored, he thought bitterly.

Taste of death. Taste of despair. Taste of disillusion.

Aim. Fire. Reload. Repeat.

The sniper rifle kicked back angrily – his shoulder went numb many hours ago, he didn’t care. Hundreds of shots ago. He already lost count of the time he was there – a single person fighting against what looked like a whole world to him.

And he was damn good at it.

His head, feeling heavy as if filled with lead - _not this time_ \- tilted to the scope. No thinking, his worn-out body had no resources for it. _See a dancing ghostlike shadow in the smoke_ \- Aim - _forefinger pulls the trigger as gently as it could in a spasmodic jerk_ \- Fire - _used heatsink launches out of the chamber, burning, jumps and rolls on the floor, left hand reaches for the next one_ \- Reload.

Repeat.

There were several times he started running short of ammo, he let a stray thought about leaving the last bullet for himself. If they get him alive, his fate would be much worse. Yet every time he gritted his teeth and sent the brains of another one unlucky merc splatter across the walls and the floor.

There must’ve been rivers of blood flowing under that bridge.

The mercs were dumb enough to leave him some time to collect some ammunition. They were dumb enough to let him return here, to lock himself in. Yet he was dumb enough to return to their base, to lock himself in, and this sniper nest would become his grave sooner or later.

Later.

Another shot; his right ear almost ignored the sound of it, deafened by the endless hours of fight.

He had nothing left in him. Emptiness that couldn’t be filled even with this thick smoke. Yet he still fought. He even had no strength to ask himself what for.

Mechanically. Because they attacked.

Small sound of his omni-tool. Message through an encrypted channel. There were no people using this channel to communicate with him left anymore. All lay dead in the next room, the corridor, the basement. Except for one. Who deserved to lie here most of them all, yet he was alive. Garrus was damn sure he was.

“Good luck there, Hero.”

The short message flashed as he jabbed his omni-tool hastily. He was too tired even for the spark of hatred. Was it Aria’s final mockery? He won’t live long enough to learn…

He received a message from her just when he was about to head out to the meeting point with Sidonis. She demanded him to arrive immediately, telling only she’s got something important and urgent for him. He ignored it, setting the priority – his men before her fancies. And then it all went wrong, everything he’s been working on came crashing down with the last ones of his men dying on him.

How long ago it was – 30 hours? 40? He stopped counting time after the first day cycle he had been forced to defend his small hideout from the combined forces of three most powerful mercenary factions of the whole Terminus. Hours he was glad to be filled with endless target practice – for him to have no time for reflexion where did he make the wrong decision.

He cheered himself for staying alive for that long even though he had no real optimism left. The gangs became desperate, judging from the pathetic disorganized groups of witless rookies they were sending to their certain death trying to cross the bridge and failing, but his concentration and reaction weren’t at their peak as well. He had a few tricks up his sleeve, but it was only a matter of time how soon they would break in, and he’d have to face them in close combat.

The time – past and left – was his biggest enemy now, and he couldn’t even fix this problem with a headshot.

Breath in – breath out. Steady the shaky hands. Lift the rifle, press it to the aching shoulder, look through the scope. Aim, fire, reload. Like a mechanism. 

Another wave of wet-nose idiots – running like panicking cattle away from the barricades on the far end of the bridge, shooting in all directions and ending their chaotic rush with a bullet in their heads, one by one like a cattle in the slaughterhouse. Another round of testing his endurance, the gangs counting on him to make a mistake – he gritted his teeth, promising himself he won’t do them such a favor, although he wasn’t so sure anymore about his tired eyes and hands getting more and more unsteady with each round fired.

Headshot. Fountain of brains. Not your lucky day, kid. Funny, he stopped feeling anything long ago – just as if his targets were mere cardboard silhouettes at the shooting range, not living, breathing human beings. They ran – he released the bullets, one by one. Bald aged man – hairless head exploded after the slight pull of the trigger, eyes searching for another target while reloading. A guy in a ridiculous hat – what have you forgotten here? You would only find death, this is your last sprint, buddy. Visor registered a biotic field at the corner of the eye and notified him of the threat – swift swing of the barrel, the scope picked a group of three. Red-haired woman in gray armor…

Garrus blinked, losing his concentration for a second, quickly raised the rifle and sniped another guy running across the bridge and aimed the scope at the woman he noticed before.

His exhausted mind must’ve been playing dirty games with him. That wasn’t fair, he really counted on his sanity, but this couldn’t be real. Everything was so familiar it gave him shivers, like a cold helping hand of death reaching out from beyond the grave, waiting for him to give up - red hair, green eyes, he could even count the dots on the fair skin – _they call it freckles_ …

Shepard…


	13. Chapter 13

Was he hallucinating? Was he dead already to see her coming to the rescue? Did she came to take him with her?

Two female figures following her… His heart skipped a beat at the sight of them. He looked through the scope, not able to withdraw his eyes off the cold unblinking light-blue ones.

Samara. It couldn’t have happened. Was she dead too to appear here and now, with Shepard?

His hands trembled and he missed another merc, who managed to successfully reach the safe spot at the entrance of the building. Damn it!..

The third companion, dark-haired human woman – but apparently not Ashley, no way Ash he knew would wear such suit in exchange for her armor. If it was Ash he would have to believe the dead really came after him. Human myths had something about women picking the souls of the dying warriors from the battlefield; he forgot who he heard it from though. Yet he believed it wasn’t his time to flee from this battle with the Valkyries. Not yet.

Calm down, relax cramped shoulders, ignore the pounding heart, there still are plenty of targets asking to be shot.

The trio crossed the bridge and ran out of his sight, and he wasn’t sure, was he praying for it to be just a creation of his exhausted mind or any possibility for it to be real. Explosion somewhere at the entrance – he had no time to check what was it, his puzzlement cost him several precious seconds. Some mercs were already storming up the stairs to his lair, he heard someone starting to hack the door lock. Not now, Spirits, please, let the blocked door stop them for a while. It wasn’t over yet. _He didn’t want it to be over right now._

Gunfire on the first floor – yet he had no chance to change his position. Damned Eclipse, after they saw someone made it into the building they activated their mechs. The first column of LOKI appeared out of the side passage, and he was afraid he’d heard heavy footsteps of YMIR from the distance…

The door chirped and slid open. He swung his rifle, facing the incoming enemies…

“Garrus?”

And lowered it. Leaned on it to stand up – the limbs felt almost dead after hours in crouching position, yet he managed to draw himself up, tall and proud, trying to disguise the immense weariness in his movements. Because the eyes he dreamed of were watching him now, and he simply couldn’t appear broken before them.

Every footstep was a torture, when he walked to the desk and lowered himself on it, resting his feet on the next one. Breathed in deeply and raised his hand to the helmet, taking it off. Damn, the helmet filters did a nice job protecting his sense of smell from the smoke filling the room.

“Shepard. I thought you were dead.”

His own voice sounded as if belonged to someone else, coming out of the dry throat, though the joyful spark of recognition in human’s eyes ignited what was left of his own joy deep inside. They were alive, they were real, his tired eyes could trick him, but the visor’s readings couldn’t. He had no idea, how it was possible, but his luck quota now seemed almost inexhaustible.

And if he really had lost his mind after endless hours of his battle against everyone, then he’d definitely prefer it to end this way. Using his last chance to admire these regal cold features of the Justicar, to look into these wide silvery-blue eyes.

“Perfect timing,” his sore throat croaked strangely as he tried to regain his usual humor, shifting his gaze back to Shepard. “Few hours later, and probably no one would be home. Or maybe by some miraculous chance there won’t be enough mercs left to share with you.”

“We’ll get you out of here, and I swear, we’ll find some more mercs to shoot,” Shepard grinned; _he noticed the small wrinkles on her nose as she did it_. It couldn’t be a perfect imitation, could it? “How’d you manage to get into such mess?”

He laughed shortly, the sound echoed with the dull ache in his head.  
“It wasn’t easy,” the words came out slow and tired, “I really had to work on it. Besides, the Eclipse mechs are on the doorstep – could we leave the stories exchange until better time?”

Shepard looked outside of the window and smiled wider. Only now his half-deafened hearing picked the sounds of a heavy machinegun outside.  
“I made sure the YMIR buys us some time. Maybe the short version of the stories for now and a few thoughts on getting out of here in one piece.”

He nodded. It felt damn good to be _not alone_ again…

Another explosion visibly shook the building. Garrus hastily checked the sensors placed all over the base. And he was just about to believe his fortune smiled upon him…

“Damn it! They’ve breached the lower level… Well, they had to use their brains eventually.”

Shepard furrowed her brows, studying the basement map on his omni-tool.  
“Can we escape through these tunnels? There’re four of us now, and together we’re hell of a team.”

Man, it seemed he was really losing his knack in all the mess he created. He should’ve thought about it earlier.  
“Yes, possibly,” he zoomed in the map hesitantly, “But we need to do it really quickly. There’re three tunnels, and whichever we choose as our escape route, we still have to seal the other two. Let’s not give them any chance to flank and corner us in such close quarters, it would be too easy for them down there.”

“Okay, which one?” Shepard checked her assault rifle. “I think we must split up, you’re too worn-out to run from one shutter to another. You and Samara – you two seem to already know each other – you go straight through the escape tunnel. But don’t rush, who knows what you can encounter down there. I’ll take Miranda and quickly go for the other two shutters, then we’ll catch up with you and get the hell out of here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he cleared his throat. “Not the best laid one, but not the worst option we got. And definitely better than everything coming to my mind before you appeared.”

He even managed to let out a weary laughter.  
“Just like old times, Shepard…”


End file.
